


Knights Errant

by kalirush



Category: Doctor Who, Torchwood
Genre: Action/Adventure, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Lasers, Magical Science, Plotty, Swords & Fencing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-01-16
Updated: 2011-02-28
Packaged: 2017-10-14 19:30:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 66,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/152684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalirush/pseuds/kalirush
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The TARDIS is disabled, and Jack and the Doctor are stuck on the slow path- in Arthur's Camelot. Adventure story, continuing or preceding? the events of Battlefield (though you won't need to have seen that episode to appreciate this, I promise).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Crossing

**Author's Note:**

> This was started for the Winter Companions 2010 Doctor/Jack fest, but not nearly finished in time. I sort of think that I've been wanting to write this ever since I first saw Battlefield. It's the perfect combination of my love for Doctor Who and my love for Arthuriana. With lasers!

The TARDIS shook, spinning out-of-control through the vortex. Clinging to a support pillar, squinting through the smoke and the sparking electronics, it was difficult to see what was happening. Jack could just see the readout, spinning madly. The Doctor stood gripping the controls white-knuckled in an attempt to steer them clear. Trying to keep his feet as the room bucked and span, Jack stumbled toward the console. Just then, there was an almighty cracking noise, and he was hit by a spray of shards from the central column. The Doctor cried out, shouting at his ship, and moved frantically around the console. In the background, Jack could just hear the regular and ominous tolling of a bell. He called to the Doctor, reaching for him and the console. Then the ground moved under him, and everything went dark.

\-------------------------------

He came back to consciousness slowly, but without the tell-tale gasp that signaled his coming back from a death. It was absolutely dark, and he blinked futilely for a moment, trying to find light somewhere. Stifling a groan, he sat up. He reached up to his head (shallow scalp wound, nasty bump, he’d get over it) and flexed his limbs, checking for wounds (scrapes, but no breaks or sprains). That done, he reached for his pocket and pulled out his mobile. As he flicked it on, its faint glow played over his hands. Good. This meant that he was not blind; he was just sitting in the dark. He winced at the pain in his head. He found himself wishing wryly that he actually had been killed. A trip down into that empty blackness and back up was never a piece of cake, but then, neither was the headache he was currently experiencing. Shaking his head, he dialed up the brightness of the display, and made to use the phone as a flashlight.

In the pathetically dim light, he could see that cables were hanging everywhere. It was clear there was serious damage to the rotor; a crack ran across the middle of it. As he pointed the light around the console, he caught sight of a crumpled figure curled around the base. Not trusting himself to stand and walk, he crawled over to the Doctor. “Doctor?” he asked, more tentatively than he meant to. The prone figure did not respond. “Got yourself knocked out, huh?” he asked, pointlessly. He shone the light over the Doctor’s body to look for wounds, but found nothing but a few small cuts and scrapes. The Doctor’s breathing was shallow, but that might well be normal for him in this kind of situation. Jack laid two fingers on the Doctor’s wrist, looking for the steady 4-part rhythm that he knew to expect. Instead, he found a thready single beat. He swore quietly to himself. He didn’t know how long a Time Lord could survive with only one heart beating, but he didn’t care to find out. He gently rolled the Doctor onto his back, and, holding his mobile in his mouth, unbuttoned the unconscious man’s jacket. “Doctor?” he said. “I hope this helps more than it hurts.”

Jack laid a hand on the Doctor’s torso, trying to work out which heart was still beating. He could feel that too-faint flutter underneath the right side of the Doctor’s chest, and he tapped out the rhythm on his leg. When he thought he had the rhythm, he began compressions, just off-synch with the Doctor’s beating heart. He could feel the Doctor’s bones grind and crack under his hands, but he continued. It took a long time, so long that Jack almost gave up. Finally, though, the Time Lord’s other heart began to beat again, thumping weakly against Jack’s fingers when he reached down to check.

With relief, Jack heaved himself back against the console. Looking around uselessly into the darkness, he found himself at a loss. He tried to turn his mobile back on, but it had run out of battery at some point. He wished he were still in the habit of wearing his wrist computer; the TARDIS itself seemed to be completely without power. He could try looking for the infirmary (or at least the first aid kit), but even if he found it, he didn’t have the first idea what else to do for the Doctor, except wait for him to wake up or regenerate. He’d half hoped that the Doctor would wake up in the middle of the CPR and tell him to stop, but the Time Lord hadn’t so much as twitched while Jack was busy cracking his sternum and ribs. He rubbed his face wearily. His arms ached a bit from the effort, and his head was still pounding. Well. If he had to wait, he’d be better off waiting asleep than awake. Perhaps things would have sorted themselves out by the time he woke up. Jack curled up on the floor next to the Doctor, and closed his eyes.

\-------------------------------

It took Jack a little while to realize that he was conscious again. The darkness was absolute, and opening his eyes proved startlingly irrelevant. Clearly, the TARDIS hadn’t managed to fix herself while he’d slept, but at least his headache was gone now. He sat up. “Doctor?” he called, softly. There was still no answer. Cautiously, he reached his hand forward, roughly to where he remembered the Doctor being before. His hands touched soft fabric, and then cool skin. “There you are,” he said, talking to himself. “Feeling any better?” When he checked, the Doctor’s breathing seemed a bit better, and his pulses steadier.

Jack sat a moment, considering. “Here’s the thing, Doc,” he said, his fingers still resting on the other man’s wrist. “No power. No food. I mean, I can wait here with you forever. It’s not my first time in the dark. But maybe we’re better off leaving here and looking for parts to repair your ship?” He paused, waiting for an answer he didn’t expect. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” He took off his coat, and laid it on the ground. As gently as he could, he rolled the Doctor onto it, and began dragging the Doctor towards the door (as best as he could work out where the door was, orienting from the console). It was slow going; Jack kept having to stop to clear debris from their path. This meant that a walk that usually took ten seconds took- longer than ten seconds. It was difficult to mark time, in this black nothingness.

At last, he reached the door. He put his hand on it, and paused. He had no idea where they were- if they were anywhere at all. The TARDIS’ shields might not quite work. They might be sucked into the vortex, or have landed somewhere with no air, or only lava for ground. “Doctor?” he asked, looking down pointlessly. “Last chance. Any opinions? Stay, or go?” No one answered. Jack sighed. “Go, it is.” He pulled open the door.

The light blinded him completely. He closed his eyes, and waited for a moment, green flashing behind his eyelids. He squinted, letting his eyes adjust to the sudden influx of light. After a moment, he was finally able to see where he was. There was grass, and trees, and a road. The grass was green, and the trees looked like the sort of trees he was used to, too. So, inhabitants- and air, and probably food. Jack’s stomach missed food. Didn’t have to have it, of course, but it was always nice. He pulled the Doctor forward. As soon as he’d pulled the Time Lord free of the door, though, it slammed closed. He laid his hand on the door, and recoiled at the psychic emanations coming from the ship. Stay out, buzz off, etc. “Alright, then, sweetheart,” he said, gently. “I’ll be back after I’ve got him awake.” At least the ship was still alive, if wounded. He hadn’t been sure. Jack looked up and down the road. Picking a direction more or less at random, he dragged the Doctor along the road on his makeshift coat-sledge.


	2. Along the Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack finds some help.

Jack sat on the side of the road, wondering what to do with himself. He’d finally had to stop for a rest, and was trying to decide whether he dared leave the Doctor in order to forage for food. The Doctor was still pale and unresponsive, his skin unusually cold to Jack’s touch- even for the Doctor, who tended to be colder than a human.

Jack was startled out of his thoughts by what sounded like hoof beats. He leapt up and pulled the Doctor away from the road. He had just enough time to get the Doctor out of clear sight. He positioned himself between the Doctor and the road, and turned to face the newcomer. He looked up in time to see a rider on what looked to be an Earth-normal horse. The rider reined in, and stopped. He looked decidedly human (although that was obviously no guarantee), and it looked good on him. Jack had a soft spot for blondes, but by any standard, the man was handsome. His hair was down to his shoulders and tousled. He had a sharp nose and gorgeous cheekbones. He was also wearing what appeared to be plate armor, which was a nice clue to time period. “Ho, there,” he said, in Jack’s direction.

“Ho there yourself!” Jack answered, smiling. For a moment, he expected to hear a voice admonishing him- _don’t start!_ His smile faltered a little.

“Art thou in need of assistance?” the rider asked, looking at him closely.

“Why do you ask?” Jack countered, trying to present himself as though he might simply have been out for a stroll. He didn’t know the man’s intentions.

The rider regarded him curiously. “You appear half-slaughtered,” he said, incredulously, and gestured vaguely towards Jack’s head. Putting his hand to his head, Jack suddenly realized that his hair and the side of his head were covered in dried blood. He had forgotten about the scalp wound he’d sustained in the crash. It was long healed, of course. “Were you set upon along the road?” the rider continued.

Jack restrained the urge to wipe at the blood. He wouldn’t look any better with blood all over his sleeve than he did with it all over his head. “Something like that,” he equivocated.

The man scowled. “You should show me where. Kai will want to know of it, if bandits are daring to trespass on the king’s road this close to the city.”

“You- ah- work for the king, then?” Jack asked. Never hurt to get information about local politics. The rider’s glance flicked downward, and Jack noticed for the first time that there was a largish shield hung on the side of the horse. It was blue, with three gold crowns placed vertically. “Okay,” he said, “you work for the king.”

“I am Sir Ancelyn ap Gwalchmai,” the man told him, helpfully. “Household knight to the king.” Ancelyn swung down off his horse.  

“Captain Jack Harkness,” Jack answered. It was probably an anachronistic title for what appeared to be medieval England, but what the hell. He held out a hand.

Ancelyn clasped his hand and then forearm. His hand was cool and dry, and he had a firm- but not crushing- grip. He wasn’t trying to prove anything to Jack. “Captain?” Ancelyn said. “I took you for a peasant, though you are strangely garbed. Art thou then a knight? And of whose company?”

“From the Estate of Torchwood,” Jack said, glibly, releasing Ancelyn. “It’s not around here, though.”

“It must be far away indeed, for I have never heard of it. If you are visiting, however, you should exchange greetings with my lord. Might I escort you?” Ancelyn said. He seemed to accept Jack’s implicit claim of knighthood. “You seem to have lost your horse; you might ride with me, if you have need of it.”

Jack considered. He really did want to get to whatever passed for civilization here; and his instincts told him that this Ancelyn meant him no harm. “That might be complicated; I’m not actually alone,” he said. He lead Ancelyn over to where the Doctor lay, out of sight behind a bush. The Doctor looked pale and still, his face marred by bloody scratches.

Ancelyn drew in his breath sharply, and knelt to examine the Doctor. He touched the Doctor’s cheek and forehead, and Ancelyn’s face grew sad. “I fear your companion has passed into the other world,” he said, looking up at Jack. “He already grows cold.”

Jack shook his head. “No, look- he’s still breathing.” He pointed at the Doctor’s chest, which was slowly rising and falling. “He’s just... like that,” he finished, lamely.

Ancelyn laid a hand on the Doctor’s chest, feeling the movement. He jerked back his hand and looked up at Jack, a look of surprise on his face. “It is as you say! He breathes. And yet, he is as cold as any corpse! Truly, this is strange sorcery.”

Jack wasn’t touching that one with a ten-foot pole. “We didn’t actually run into any bandits, so your Kai can relax. We were in an accident, and he was hurt. I’d like to get him somewhere where he can rest.” Jack was suddenly very tired. He could feel his headache returning.

Ancelyn looked at him thoughtfully. “You look as though you need rest yourself, as well. Head wounds are not to be taken lightly.” He stood up, walking back towards his horse. “I saw a farm a few miles back. They will have a wagon; I will retrieve it, and we will transport the two of you to Camelot, where our healers will examine you both.”

Jack watched in dismay as Ancelyn jumped on his horse and disappeared. Jack was not keen on letting medieval “healers” examine his alien friend. Nevertheless, if it meant food for the Doctor, and a bed, and not being dragged across rough terrain, maybe it was worth the risk. He sat down, leaning against a tree trunk. As he leaned back into the rough bark, he suddenly thought, _Did he just say ‘Camelot’?_


	3. The Shining City

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They reach Camelot.

The wooden, horse-drawn wagon was everything Jack had feared it would be- bumpy, loud and smelly- but it couldn’t be any worse on the Doctor than being dragged along behind Jack on the road. He sat next to the still-unconscious Time Lord, trying absentmindedly to mop the blood off of his own head with a handkerchief he’d found in one of the Doctor’s pockets. He was also desperately trying to remember his early Earth history. As far as he could remember, even people who thought there really had been a King Arthur didn’t think there was a real Camelot-called-Camelot. So, that being the case, where exactly were he and the Doctor being taken?

With that thought in his head, he was less surprised to see the electric street lamps as they entered the city than he might otherwise have been. Once he’d noticed the street lamps, he also noticed that the men in the gatehouses (also in plate armor) were carrying what appeared to be some form of laser pistol. It was bizarre. If they had the technology for laser weapons, why were they still riding horses and wearing plate mail? The streets, aside from the lamps, were the very picture of a grimy medieval city from the movies. If the people in charge in this place really had high technology, they weren’t spreading it around much.

Ancelyn pulled back and level with the cart. “Your head looks better, Sir Jack,” he said. “I did not ask- have you ever visited the Shining City before?”

If this dirt-covered, squalid place was a Shining City, Jack felt that Ancelyn needed better standards. “My first time,” he answered, biting his tongue. He had a strong suspicion that this might be a case of warlords hoarding the technology for their own benefit, while their people suffered. He was trying to withhold judgement until he had a better sense for this place. There was one thing he was utterly certain of, however: this was not Earth, not in any time period he’d ever studied.

“Ah, then you are a lucky man!” Ancelyn said, smiling. He seemed entirely unaware of his guest’s unease. “There is no city like it on God’s earth.”

“Is this where the king lives, then?” Jack called out. The streets were noisy, and bumpier here than outside the city. It made carrying on conversation difficult. He shifted the Doctor’s head into his lap to try to cushion it from the bouncing of the cart.

“Not here,” Ancelyn said, a touch condescendingly. “You will know it when you see it.” Grinning, he spurred his horse forward, leaving Jack and the Doctor behind again.

Ancelyn was correct. A few minutes later, they turned a corner, and Jack became aware that he had fundamentally misunderstood something. The streets and houses they’d been riding through were not the Shining City of Camelot. They were passing through an undercity, mere slums on the outskirts. What he saw before him as they cleared the close-hanging medieval houses was a startling skyline of white-silver towers that gleamed in the setting sun. The complex was surrounded by a great black wall, which was itself surrounded by a deep trench. There was a bridge leading over the trench, and a gate through the wall. These gave the complex the vague appearance of a medieval castle, but it was much, much larger than any of the many castles that Jack’d visited during his exile in Britain. Furthermore, the towers were more reminiscent of New New York than Edinburgh.

They were stopped at the gatehouse before the bridge, and Jack could see Ancelyn speaking with the gate guard. This guard pulled some sort of device off his belt. Ancelyn presented his shield, and the guard pointed the device- presumably a scanner of some sort, then- at it, and waved Ancelyn on. The guard looked distastefully in Jack’s direction as they passed. Whether his disdain was reserved for Jack or for the dirty wooden cart, Jack did not know. They passed over the bridge, and into the city.

Ancelyn pulled back again. “The houses of healing are very close; we might go there if you think your friend needs aid in haste. But I would suggest we go to the court, instead. The king has his own healers there, and it may be that his wizards and mages will be better able to unravel whatever sorcery it is that afflicts your friend.”

Jack nodded, and reached down to check the Doctor’s pulse- it was still steady, four beats. “I think he’s as stable as he’s going to be, so if you think it’s better to continue, that’s fine. But I’d rather not travel too much farther- all this bouncing can’t be good for him.” He wondered briefly whether the “wizards and mages” were the engineers responsible for the glass and metal of this very modern-looking city- which was still peopled by people who looked like they were dressed up for a BBC period drama.

Ancelyn looked down at the Doctor with a touch of concern. “It is not so far. Look, you can see the towers of the king’s castle, which soar above all others in the city.”

He pointed, and Jack noticed a few towers that seemed a bit taller than the others. It was difficult to tell exactly how far away it really was, but he supposed the Doctor could make it that far. “Lead the way,” Jack said.

\--------------------------

There was another guard and gatehouse as they entered the castle complex. All the security was starting to make Jack nervous, particularly since he might well have to outrun a witch burning squad after the healers got a good look at the Doctor. After scanning Ancelyn’s shield, they were allowed to ride into a largish courtyard. Ancelyn jumped off his horse and handed it off to a solicitous-looking young man, who disappeared with the horse and returned a few moments later with two other men and a stretcher. Jack helped them transfer the Doctor onto it and, at last, reclaimed his coat. Ancelyn came over to the back of the cart, and offered him a hand down.

“We should see my lord first,” Ancelyn said, with a touch of apology in his voice. “and then we will see you and your companion to the healers. But I fear he would be vexed with me if I were to usher strangers into his house without allowing him some word of welcome. I promise that the servants will be most gentle in conveying him, though- it will be exactly as if he were ensconced already in his bed.” Ancelyn looked earnestly up at him.

Jack sighed, and took Ancelyn’s hand, jumping down off the cart. He doubted that Ancelyn’s people could do much for the Doctor’s alien physiology anyhow. Still, he wasn’t thrilled at having him paraded around when he was in this condition. “If it’s necessary,” he said, to Ancelyn, his voice more snappish than he meant it to be. Ancelyn recoiled. With some effort, Jack put a smile on his face. “Sorry,” he said. “Long day. Let’s meet your king.”

The corridor that they walked through was wide, tall, and lavishly decorated. Jack kept pace with Ancelyn as they followed the stretcher-bearers up to an enormous, gilded door. Ancelyn stepped forward. “Hail, good knights,” he said, and clenched his fist across his chest in salute. “I met strange travelers along the road- they were sore in need of help, and I thought it best to bring them here. They come to offer greetings to my lord, and beg his aid. I am Ancelyn ap Gwalchmai, and I have earned the right to the ear of my king.”

One of the guards shifted his stance, and saluted back at Ancelyn. “I am Amlyn ap Bradwen, and I know you, Ancelyn. You are in good favor with our king, and he will see you.” It had the cadence of a ritual utterance. The other guard touched a panel, and the enormous doors swung in, revealing an enormous hall. Jack could see, at the far end, a raised platform, with a throne.

The first guard touched his throat, and spoke. His voice echoed through the hall, obviously amplified. “Sir Ancelyn ap Gwalchmai, returned from his travels. He comes in the company of-” he paused a moment, looking at Ancelyn.

“Sir Jack ap Harkness, Captain of the company of Torchwood, and his companion,” Ancelyn supplied.

“Sir Jack ap Harkness, Captain of the company of Torchwood,” the guard repeated. “And his companion, taken ill on the road. They come to seek counsel and aid from your majesty.”

Ancelyn and the stretcher-bearers moved forward into the hall, and Jack followed. The doors swung silently closed behind them. The hall was lined with people, both standing and sitting, and they gawked at Jack as he passed. As they reached the other end of the hall, Jack was surprised to see that the man sitting in the throne was a teenager- no older than 16. He sat stiffly in the enormous chair, a golden circlet laid over a mop of honey-brown curls. Held loosely at his side was an enormous sword which shone strangely in the light, as though it were more than mere steel.

Ancelyn turned to Jack, and spoke quietly. “Sir Jack- this is my lord, King Arthur Pendragon, High King over all Britain.” Jack was not surprised to discover that there was an Arthur in Camelot. It was starting to feel as though he were trapped inside a weirdly anachronistic reenactment of somebody’s 33rd century idea of Arthurian romances.

“Ancelyn!” Arthur cried, with obvious joy. “You are returned home to us once more. And you bring us guests.”

“Yes, Majesty,” Ancelyn replied, formally. “I met them on the road, and thought that it would please you to meet them. It may be that you can help them, as well- as you can see, they are in need of aid.”

The king peered down at the Doctor, held at waist level by the stretcher bearers. Jack had wiped the worst of the blood off of him, but he still looked deathly pale. The Doctor was usually a presence, a force of nature, and it was painful to see him looking so small and still. Jack closed his eyes for a moment, willing himself calm.

When he opened them again, he saw Arthur looking at him. The king’s eyes were a pale blue, and it was a disconcerting sensation to be so closely examined by them. “I have never heard of this ‘Torchwood’,” Arthur declared. “Where is it?”

“Very far away, your Majesty,” Jack said, and smiled. This was not his first time dealing with royalty. “I will tell you about it, if you like.”

“Why have you come to our lands?” Arthur asked, his voice filled with curiosity. “Have you some business here?”

Jack shook his head. “We never intended to come here- we were traveling elsewhere, when our... ship was damaged. Sir Ancelyn was kind enough to bring us here, so that my friend might rest and recover.”

“Has he a name, your friend?” Arthur cocked an eyebrow at Jack. “Is he your servant, or perhaps a brother-in-arms?”

“Neither,” Jack shook his head. He was barely able to keep a smirk off his lips at the idea of the Doctor as his servant. “He is a scholar. He is known by many names, but if you were to ask him, he would tell you to call him ‘the Doctor’.”

Arthur scowled. “‘The Doctor’? That is no sort of name. Has he not a real one?”

“If he does, I don’t know it. Hopefully, he’ll wake up soon, and you can take it up with him. Your Majesty.” Jack tacked the honorific on at the last moment.

“Hopefully sooner, rather than later. Well, I will not keep you standing here, when you and your ‘Doctor’ should so clearly be taken to the healers’ beds. If you are well enough, though, I hope that you at least will dine with us tonight, Sir Jack. I would hear more of this ‘Torchwood’.” He nodded, and it was a clear dismissal. Arthur hesitated a moment, though, and then called out, “Ancelyn! See our guests to their rest, and then attend us. We have been too long without your company.”

“Yes, Majesty,” Ancelyn murmured, and then he herded Jack out of the hall.

“ _You’re_ in the king’s favor,” Jack said to him, once they were clear of the hall.

“His Majesty has few companions at all close to his own age,” Ancelyn said, a trifle defensively. “He finds those few he has to be very dear to him. I fear to say, though, that the king’s foster-brother, Kai, disapproves of me. He feels that I am a bad influence, and sends me out on long patrols. I think that he hopes that distance will make his royal brother like me less. I suspect that if I were to spend more time here, it would sooner cure the king of his liking for me, but Kai is not a subtle man.”

“Are you?” Jack asked, impudently.

“A subtle man?”

“A bad influence.” Jack wriggled his eyebrows suggestively.

“It derives from an unfortunate incident involving some beehives and our liberal interpretations of the requirements of lance practice,” Ancelyn said, with as much dignity as he could muster. “We were much younger, at the time, and I would not say that I was the sole instigator.” Ancelyn paused, looking thoughtful. “Perhaps Kai would not hold it against me so, if it had not been _his_ horse that we borrowed.”


	4. Fair Folk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor gets some medical attention, for all the good it does.

The infirmary was within the palace itself, and it took very little time for Ancelyn to lead them to it. This time, there were no guards in front of the doors. Ancelyn simply pushed them open and strode in. Inside, to Jack’s relief, was a remarkably modern-looking clinic. There were several low beds, with gleamingly clean instrument tables beside them. There was no obvious advanced technology here, but Jack didn’t doubt that an inspection of the cabinets would reveal some. A pretty, dark-eyed woman in nun’s garb looked up as they entered.

“Bethan!” Ancelyn said. “I was hoping it would be you on duty.”

She smiled. It looked fabulous on her. “What have you brought me today, Ancelyn? At least it’s not you on that stretcher this time.” She directed the stretcher-bearers to lay the Doctor down on one of the beds.

“Not me- it was a boring patrol. At least it was, up until I met these two, bleeding into the brush on the side of the road. Bethan, this is Sir Jack ap Harkness, and his companion, the Doctor. My lord has offered them hospitality.” He turned to Jack. “This is Sister Bethan. She is first apprentice to the Mother Abbess, who manages this house.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Jack said, bowing, and putting a little extra oomph into his smile. She might be a nun, but she was very pretty. Besides, nuns didn’t have to stay celibate.

She raised an eyebrow. “Were you also injured, Sir Knight?” she asked, clearly not impressed by his masculine wiles.

Before Jack could fend her off, Ancelyn answered for him. “He looks well now, lady, but half his head was bathed in blood when first I met him.”

“So I see,” she said, looking at Jack disapprovingly. “The good Lord save me from men who try to hide their injuries out of pride.”

“Hey,” said Jack, defensively, “shouldn’t you be focusing on my unconscious friend? I’m still up and walking around, at least.” He’d debated trying to get out of having a healer examine the Doctor. Finally, he’d decided that as long as he remained there to make sure they didn’t try anything stupid, it could probably help more than hurt. And if the Doctor being an alien was going to be a problem, then he’d do what he had to to get them both to safety.

Bethan sniffed. “I can see that he’s breathing well, and if he were very critical, Ancelyn would have taken him to the larger Healing Houses near the gates. Besides, he will stay where he is until I have had a chance to work on him. You might not.”

Jack grinned at her. “Oh, believe me, I’m not going anywhere.” Which he definitely wasn’t- there was no way he was leaving the Doctor here on his own.

Ancelyn broke in. “It seems that you are in good hands, Sir Jack, and my lord has requested my company. I will return for you later, if you please.”

“See you later,” Jack agreed. He allowed Sister Bethan to lead him to a bed.

She bade him sit down, and set about examining him. She probed his head, checked his pulse, and shined a very non-medieval flashlight in his eyes. She stopped, and looked at him hard. “Did you injure yourself, in truth? I find nothing to indicate you’ve had a head injury of any kind, much less an injury that would cause a scalp bleed.”

Jack shrugged. “I was knocked unconscious; I don’t remember exactly what happened, and I don’t know how long I was out.”

She frowned. “Any blow hard enough to render you unconscious should have left some sort of mark.”

“I’m a fast healer,” he said, with that smile that said _pay no attention to the man behind the curtain._

She snorted at him, and examined his head once more, roughly. Finally, she released him. “Since you clearly are in no need of my arts, whatever the reason why, what of your friend? Ancelyn called him ‘the Doctor’, I believe? A curious name, that.”

Jack shrugged cautiously. “So everyone keeps saying.” Jack made to get up.

Ignoring him, she moved over to the Doctor, and picked up his wrist, as if to check for a pulse. She frowned, and touched his head, and neck, and the skin of his chest. “He is like ice!” she said, looking sharply at Jack. “Has some sorcerous curse been laid upon him? Or was this coldness created a-purpose?”

Jack decided to translate that as _did someone zap him with a stasis ray, or did you put him in cryo for your own reasons?_

“I couldn’t tell you,” he lied. “He was like this when I woke up.” He watched her, cautiously trying to gauge her reaction.

Still looking at him askance, she picked up the Doctor’s wrist, counting his pulse. Her frown deepened. She touched the pulse points on his neck, and then laid her fingertips on his chest- first the left side, and then the right. She froze, and Jack held his breath. If she started screaming, he was fairly confident that he could cross the distance between them and get a hand over her mouth before she got much noise out.

But she did not scream. She turned slowly to face him, her hands on her hips. “Why did you not tell me that he was one of the Fair Folk?” she snapped at him. “I might have used iron instruments, and injured him, all unwitting!”

Jack blinked. Then, he blinked again. _Fair Folk_ meant _fairies_ , which produced in Jack a reflexive terror. _Fairies_ also did not, in Jack’s experience, mean weird physiology and an iron allergy. Then again, he was apparently in Camelot, and had just met King Arthur, so perhaps things were different here. “I wasn’t sure that the... Fair Folk were, ah... accepted here,” he finally choked out. “Very enlightened. Not every one feels the same.”

“It is not as though we see them here often,” she said. “But there is no war between our King and the hosts of the Other World. Representatives of the Faerie Courts have even been guested here, from time to time. And in any case, your Doctor need fear nothing, not even if he be an enemy of those Courts and all of the human world besides. King Arthur has granted him hospitality. No harm will come to him here if it be in the king’s power to prevent it, no matter who or what your friend is.”

She busied herself with removing the Doctor’s tie. Then Jack helped her remove- very gently- his jacket and shirt. Jack supported the Doctor’s head and neck while she swiftly untangled his arms from the sleeves. When they had him stripped to the torso, Bethan bound the Doctor’s chest against the shifting of his bones. Otherwise, she seemed inclined to leave him be. Apparently, while she was willing to treat fairies, she didn’t much know what might hurt or heal them and didn’t care to find out by trial and error. Jack did assure her that the Doctor had no special sensitivity to iron, and she seemed willing to accept that.

Later, when a messenger bearing the blue-and-crowns device on his tunic appeared, Jack pleaded his injuries to get out of attending dinner that night. Bethan shot him a few skeptical looks while he did so, but she kept her peace. He talked the servant into bringing him back some bread and soup. Then, at his request, Bethan drew up a cot next to the Doctor’s bed for him, and withdrew to her chambers, judging that neither patient needed her immediate attention over the night.

Jack slept very little. He spent much of the night staring at the ceiling, holding the Doctor’s cool, still hand in his own. It was a physical intimacy that the Time Lord would never have allowed, had he been conscious. Still, here and now it felt appropriate; a small bit of contact with the Doctor. The cuts on the Doctor’s face were beginning to heal, and it was comforting. If the Doctor’s body could heal a cut, perhaps it could heal whatever it was that was keeping him unconscious.


	5. Who's Who in Fairyland

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm pretty sure that I never anticipated writing a scene with two people discussing what sort of fairy creature the Doctor might be. It's nice that the world is surprising.

Jack must have slept for a few hours, at least, because he woke to the sound of someone entering the room sometime after dawn. At first, just opening his eyes, he took it to be Bethan. On closer inspection, though, he saw that it was some other woman, also wearing a nun’s habit. She was pulling open the window shades, allowing sunlight to stream into the room. He sat up, laying the Doctor’s hand gently back by his side.

“Good. You’re awake,” she said. Her voice sounded stern, but not unpleasant.

“Good morning to you, too,” he said, swinging his legs over the side of his cot. “Captain Jack Harkness. And you are?”

“The Mother Abbess,” she said, continuing to open window shades. As she finished, she finally turned to face him. “Sister Bethan told me of your arrival.” She came over to him, grabbed his head, and began prodding it, none too gently. Jack half reached up to stop her, and then put his hand back down.

“Like what you see?” he asked, saucily. Something about nuns brought out his inherent cheekiness.

“Hm.” she grunted. She released his head, grabbed him by the chin and looked closely into both his eyes. She was a good bit older than Bethan, he realized. Her habit completely covered over her hair, but her skin was lined and spotted in a way that only comes from the passage of time. Finally, she let him go, and stood back. “Are you human?” she asked, her arms crossed.

“Mmm- blunt. Just what I like in a woman.” Jack grinned at her. “And yes, I am. Want me to show you?”

She cocked an eyebrow. “I fail to see what that would accomplish,” she said. “We both know that the outward appearance of humanity is no guarantee of its internal nature. If you are, however, human, then how do you explain your lack of injury? Granted, neither Bethan nor I ever saw this head wound, but Ancelyn reported seeing it, and you yourself claimed later to have been knocked unconscious by a blow to the head.”

“Someone’s been doing their homework.” Jack wasn’t sure where she was going with this.

“Bethan writes very complete reports.” The Mother Abbess gestured towards his head. “Were you, in fact, wounded? And if so, then how is it that you are today without any trace of a wound that you sustained only yesterday?”

“Those are very personal questions,” he equivocated.

She sniffed. “I mislike enigma,” she said, with a sour expression. “Most particularly when it arrives in my infirmary. Have you been blessed by some variety of magic? Is this Torchwood of yours in the Other World, and you yourself come from there?”

“You could say that,” he said, thoughtfully. Wherever Torchwood was in relation to here, it might as well be in another world. “But I really am totally human. You can examine me if you want.”

She studied him for a moment. “Perhaps I will, later,” she said. “For now, we should discuss your Doctor.” She sat down next to the Doctor’s bed, and gently checked his pulse. She then produced a small, cylindrical flashlight from a pocket. She carefully pulled open his eyes, and began testing their response to the light. “Is he indeed a physician?”

“Among other things,” Jack said. “He’s a scholar, too. But mostly, he travels. We were traveling, together. How is he?”

The Mother Abbess sighed. “I am far more experienced at the medical treatment of the Fair Folk than is Sister Bethan. Alas, my experience mainly tells me how very little I truly know. The Good People are much diverse, and they have... strange idiosyncrasies. What herbs might heal one, would kill another. Without knowing more about who he is and what afflicts him, there is little we can do for him. If he were human, I would say from his responses that he is deep in a coma, or even a vegetative state. However, if he were human, I would also say from his body temperature that he was dead.” She shook her head. “Anything you can tell us would be helpful.”

Jack wracked his brain, considering carefully what he could or should share with these women. What he knew was little enough, of course. “I know to avoid aspirin.” She stared and him blankly, and he paused for a moment, trying to remember the natural origins of aspirin. “Willow bark? It’s a mild analgesic,” he guessed, finally. She nodded, and he continued. “He doesn’t like pears, but I don’t think that’s anything life or death. As far as his physiology- two hearts, and he’s colder than we are. For the most part, he seems human enough.”

She scowled, and Jack tried not to take it personally. “This sounds like none of the Other Ones that I know of. For looks, I might take him almost to be one of the _aes sídhe_ , but I have never known one to have any mutation or deformity. His hearts make him one of the dark folk, but which one? I cannot say. Has he any unusual abilities?”

Jack did not expect this to actually be helpful, since the Doctor was unlikely to be on any list of _Who’s Who in Fairyland_ , but- he shrugged. “He’s a little stronger than you might expect. He can go without breathing for short periods of time. And he can read minds, a little, if he can touch you.”

She shook her head. “I will investigate this. Perhaps I will be able to formulate a treatment; or more like, he will simply wake on his own. In the meantime, however, he has been without food and water for more than a day already. Sister Bethan told me that he does not have the usual allergy to iron. Is this so?”

Jack nodded. “Yeah. He’s fine with any kind of metal.”

“Then I would like to put a steel needle into one of his veins, and allow fluids to flow directly into his body in that way. Is there any reason that you think that this might harm him?”

“As long as there aren’t any strange drugs or additives in the solution, it should be fine.”

“Excellent,” she said. “We will keep him hydrated, and if he doesn’t wake up soon, then we may have to see what must be done to feed him. Meanwhile, there are clean clothes and food by the door. Your clothing is blood-spattered and soiled; you should change it.” She began fishing tubing out of a drawer.

Jack looked over at the door, and saw a tray on the counter near it. There was a bowl of thin gruel, which he bolted. It was terrible, but it was food. He changed behind a screen. When he emerged, the Mother Abbess was waiting expectantly. He surrendered his coat and clothes to the nun. She harrumphed a bit at the state of them, and then disappeared.

The new clothes were much what he would have expected- breeches (which were delightfully flattering, he thought), a loose white shirt, and a heavier brocade tunic in green. He had belted the long tunics at his waist, and hoped he hadn’t inadvertently put anything on backwards.

Jack went to the Doctor’s bedside, and sat down on the stool there. The Time Lord lay still, his head turned to one side. Jack reached out and brushed the Doctor’s cheek with his fingertips. He took the Doctor’s hand in his again, taking care not to disturb the IV. “I guess I’m waiting for you again, Doc,” he said. He forced himself to smile. “Try not to make me wait a hundred years this time, okay?”

\-------------------------

Still sitting at the Doctor’s bedside, Jack heard a knock behind him. He turned to see Ancelyn, standing in the doorway, his hand on the frame. “How fares he this morning, Sir Jack?” he asked, entering the room.

“About the same as yesterday.” Jack laid the Doctor’s hand back on the bed next to him, and patted his shoulder. He turned to face Ancelyn. “Sorry I missed dinner. How was it?”

“Oh, very fine.” Ancelyn grinned. “The king’s cooks are very good; I never eat so well on the road. My lord did remark upon your absence; he bids me tell thee that- if thou art well enough- he would speak with thee this afternoon.” He cocked an eyebrow. “And I happen to know that you are indeed well enough, because I did pass the Mother Abbess in the hallway, and have words with her.”

“Those ladies know their business,” Jack said, affably.

“It is so,” Ancelyn said, nodding. “And if you would leave your Doctor in their care this morning, I would show you the lay of the castle. I am sure that the practice ring holds some allure, since you are better today. We might also put you in better quarters than this infirmary.” He paused, and then continued, with the air of someone broaching a delicate subject. “You may be pleased to discover also that the breakfast is much better in the main hall than in the sickroom.”

Jack laughed. “Good to know. I had wondered about that.”

Ancelyn looked sympathetic. He lowered his voice. “I believe that the Mother Abbess keeps the gruel watery and bitter on purpose, that she might encourage malingering knights to depart her care.”

“Most particularly when you are here, Sir Ancelyn.” Ancelyn jumped as the Mother Abbess appeared behind him. “Some knights malinger more than others.”

Ancelyn put a hand over his heart. “You wound me, Mother! If I seem to stretch my visits, it is only because I can bear to be parted from you no longer than necessary.”

Jack started to laugh. He couldn’t help it- Ancelyn looked so very sincere, and it was just the sort of line that Jack himself might have used to try to charm his way out of trouble. The nun paused, glared at Jack for a moment, and then thwacked Ancelyn over the head for his trouble. “Well, part yourself from me now,” she said. “I’ve no use for able-bodied men in my infirmary. Get you gone, Sir Ancelyn, and take your new friend with you.”

Jack stopped laughing, with some difficulty. He was in no hurry to leave the Doctor, but there was only so long he could sit around and stare at an unconscious Time Lord. “If anything changes-” he began.

“If he wakes or worsens, I will send a messenger at once. And while a familiar voice can be a comfort to someone in his position, he does not need you here at all hours.” She took him by the elbow, and pointed him toward the door.

“She’s the queen of her own domain,” Jack remarked, out in the hallway.

“Verily,” Ancelyn agreed. “And she hits harder than she thinks she does.” He rubbed the back of his head, wincing.

Jack sighed. He was not happy about leaving the Doctor alone, but he didn’t mistrust the nuns, or this knight Ancelyn. He would be safe here.

“Shall we to the practice ring?” Ancelyn asked, breaking in on Jack’s thoughts. “I am sure that your Doctor, ill though he may be, would not want you to sit idle.”

Jack had passed himself off as a knight, and now they expected him to behave like one, apparently. Well, he had been a soldier for more years than Ancelyn had been alive, and he probably ought to be able to hold his own. “Lead the way,” he said.


	6. Practice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack and Ancelyn get in some sparring.

Ancelyn led him out into to a large courtyard filled with people. There was a roped enclosure in the center. Inside, there were a good number- perhaps a dozen- men, wrestling or sparring. Jack took a moment to enjoy the view. He’d always had a certain appreciation for a fit gentleman with a good command of his weapons. He wasn’t alone, apparently; there were a number of women and men sitting around and watching. Tearing himself away, he followed Ancelyn to the side of the courtyard, where there was another enclosed area. There were various weapons and bits of armor strewn over wooden benches.

“I know that you lost your armor, Sir Jack,” Ancelyn said, as if he were sorry to bring up such a sensitive topic. “I thought that my old mail coat might do for practice, until you can commission the armorer to make you new plate.” With a hand, he indicated a chainmail shirt, lying neatly folded atop a bench.

Ancelyn was dressed, much like Jack himself, in tunics and breeches. With a swift movement, he stripped to the waist. Ancelyn was as well-built as Jack might have expected. He tried not to ogle too obviously- not until he had worked out this place’s attitudes towards male-male relationships. Ancelyn proceeded to put on a dirty, stained shirt in a thin fabric. Over it, he donned a heavy, padded shirt with strings hanging from various places on the sleeves and body. He tossed a similar shirt to Jack. “I fear this is an old doublet. But it is sound, and ‘twill serve for practice.”

Taking the hint, Jack stripped down to his shirt, and pulled the heavy garment on. He was just wondering what to do about the mail shirt and the strings on his sleeves, when a boy barely into his teen years approached. “Sorry, sorry,” the boy said. “I almost didn’t see you there, sir.” The boy picked up the mail shirt and made to help Jack put it on over his head.

“No problem,” Jack said, bending down a bit to make the boy’s task easier. “And you are?”

“Me?” the boy said, sounding surprised. “My name’s Geoff. And I’ll have you ready to go in no time, sir. Chain’s so much easier to get on and off; not so many points to tie, like.”

The armor slid on, and Jack was taken aback by the weight of it. He had little experience with wearing body armor- a perk of his peculiar condition. This armor was startlingly heavy. He was beginning to worry about his ability to fight in it, as he was clearly expected to do.

“I’m one of Sir Dynadan’s squires,” Geoff continued, pulling Jack’s right arm up unceremoniously. He began to fiddle under Jack’s armpit and at his side. “Well, his page, at the moment. But almost his squire. Later this year. Anyhow, your Sir Ancelyn asked him if he could spare someone to do for you, since you haven’t got a squire with you, and Sir Dynadan thought I might suit, on a temporary basis. And there you are, sir. How does that feel?”

Jack inspected the armor, not really knowing what he was supposed to be looking for. He turned around a bit, trying to get a feel for the way the heavy armor would encumber him. “Nicely done,” he said, vaguely. He looked over to see a slightly older boy buckling pieces of plate onto Ancelyn.

“Would you like a surcoat on now, or just belt the mail, sir?” Geoff inquired. Jack shrugged, unsure what he was talking about. Geoff seemed to take that as a sign to buckle a thick leather belt on over his waist, cinching the mail up against his body. “Helmet on now, or wait a bit?”

Jack definitely wanted as much time as possible to get used to the armor, especially if there was also a helmet. He indicated as much, and Geoff tied a padded bonnet on to his head. Over the bonnet went a mail coif, and over the coif went an armored cap. “Let me know if you’re going to do any jousting,” Geoff told him with an earnest tone. “I’ll dig you up a helmet with a proper face plate. But this should do for sword fighting.”

With that, Jack was released. In a few more moments, Ancelyn was also suited up. He looked much the same as he had when Jack had first encountered him- with the exception that he, too, was now wearing an armored cap. Wisps of unruly blond hair peeked out from underneath the mail coif. “Shall we, Sir Jack?” Ancelyn inquired cheerfully. “I fear that the assembled hordes are waiting to take your measure. Not even the King’s horse travels faster than gossip here, and I feel certain that every man and woman in the city has heard of your strange arrival by now.”

“And here I thought this was just practice,” Jack said, lightheartedly. He pulled on the leather gloves that Geoff pressed on him. “I’d better put on a good show.” He grinned at Ancelyn.

“Sir Jack,” said Ancelyn, grinning back, “I feel certain that, whatever the outcome of today’s sparring practice, it will not fail to entertain the masses.” With that, he slipped a sword into his belt and headed for the ring.

Geoff appeared again at Jack’s side, holding a sword. Jack took it and regarded it for a moment. He had some experience with fencing, but mainly with sabre and rapier. This was a much heavier weapon- a hacking weapon. Fighting with this thing would not be a matter of speed and grace. It would be about strength, and stamina, and control, and the ability to stay out of the way of the other man’s bloody great meat cleaver. He inspected the edge, though, and found it blunt. _Right,_ he thought. _Because blunting the edge renders more than three feet of heavy steel harmless._ This might be practice, but the risk of broken bones or death was real. Jack slid the sword through a ring on his belt, as he’d seen Ancelyn do, and followed the knight onto the field.

As he took the field, he noticed a sudden silence. There had been many pairs of men practicing in various spots in the courtyard, but they all seemed to have stopped. Jack smiled. “Pleased to meet you!” he called to the crowd. He swept a bow, making sure to make eye contact with some of the watching ladies. “Captain Jack Harkness, at your service.” He put just a touch of lasciviousness into that, and was rewarded with some polite giggling.

Ancelyn broke in. “Please, good folk- Sir Jack is here to practice. We should be about our business, and you to yours.” He continued in a more private voice. “To three touches?” he asked, and drew his sword.

“Fine by me,” Jack answered.

They took their stances, and Jack was pleased to see that his old training- both in the Time Agency, and as an officer in the British Army- was still kicking around somewhere in his muscle memory. They circled for a moment, and then Ancelyn closed. His blade flashed toward Jack’s left side, ringing harshly against Jack’s sword. He’d barely registered the incoming strike by the time he’d blocked it; apparently his hands moved faster than his brain. Without waiting, Ancelyn whipped his blade out and across, coming in for Jack’s right side. This time, Jack not only parried, but riposted. He pushed Ancelyn’s blade out of the way, slashing towards the other man’s arm. Ancelyn, though, dodged back, well out of the way of Jack’s blade, grinning like a madman. Saying nothing, Jack advanced again.

As they fought, Jack became quickly aware that Ancelyn was- no surprise- better than he was. In fact, he was fairly sure that Ancelyn was taking it easy on him. As he considered that, Ancelyn lunged in for a thrust. Jack pulled back, but not fast enough. The armor slowed him down. The point of Ancelyn’s blade hit against the mail on his chest with an audible “plink”. Ancelyn pulled his sword back, and took his stance again. “First touch, Sir Jack. I see that thou’rt still recovering from thy time in the infirmary. Wouldst like to stop and rest?” he asked, teasingly.

 _Medieval equivalent of trash talk_ , Jack thought, rolling his eyes. “Just finding my pace,” he called back. Taking the initiative, he slashed at Ancelyn’s left side. Ancelyn blocked easily, as Jack had expected. They traded blows for a while. Jack was getting more comfortable with the weight of his weapon, and the armor on his back. He was also paying close attention to Ancelyn.

“You’re very good,” Jack got out, in between moves. He let his mouth run on autopilot while he concentrated. It was a skill that he was well-practiced in. “You remind me of someone I used to know.” Jack slashed towards Ancelyn’s left, Ancelyn parried. “He was a dancer, not a fighter.” Ancelyn slashed left across Jack’s belly, Jack jumped back out of the way. “But he was quick, like you are. And blond.”

Jack told the story punctuated by sword thrusts and clanging blades. It was an increasingly improbable (and more than a little bawdy) tale about a dancer, a girl he wanted to impress, and the girl’s extremely unimpressable mother. All, the while, he waited for his chance, hoping that it would distract Ancelyn; or at least make him relax a little. He spun the tale out, feeling for Ancelyn’s defenses.

As he approached the end of the tale, Ancelyn slashed high on his right. Jack blocked, and knocked Ancelyn’s blade back. “So she walked into the room,” he said. Using the space he’d bought in knocking Ancelyn’s blade away, he went in for a belly slash- and changed it at the last moment to a lunge toward Ancelyn’s left thigh. His blade clattered against Ancelyn’s armor, loud in the sudden silence. Jack pulled away, taking his stance again. He grinned over at the knight. “And my dancer friend said, ‘ _Seventeen_ donkeys? I’m going to need more apples!’”

The crowd erupted in laughter and applause. Ancelyn himself was struggling to keep his sword at the ready, shaking with suppressed laughter. “Nicely done, Sir Jack,” he called, after the crowd had finally calmed. “We stand even for touches. And thou’rt a most accomplished storyteller! I see that I shall have to try harder, if I am to prove myself equal to thee today.”

“Thank you, Sir Ancelyn,” he called back, cheekily.

Jack took the offensive this time. Ancelyn was fighting more defensively, being more careful not to open himself up. Jack didn’t expect to win the third point, but he was still doing his best. The armor, though, was beginning to take its toll. He was slower than he should be. As the fight continued, he found himself retreating, falling back into a defensive mode. He was still managing to block Ancelyn’s attacks, but only barely.

Then, suddenly, Ancelyn slipped. Jack didn’t know why, but Ancelyn lost his footing for a split second. With a sudden burst of speed, Jack brought his blade up and knocked Ancelyn’s sword wide away. He twisted his weapon and rammed the pommel hard into Ancelyn’s chest with the whole weight of his body behind it. It was a fencing move he’d learned years ago from his old partner in the Time Agency. Ancelyn’s armor protected him, so it wasn’t as effective as it might have been. Nevertheless, Ancelyn staggered back a step. Jack swung his blade back around. With a high-pitched ting, the point of the blade impacted Ancelyn’s breastplate.

There was a sudden quiet in the crowd, as though they were not sure how to react. The pause lasted a moment, and then Ancelyn laughed. “An unorthodox move, Sir Jack! I am not sure that I would have tried it on an armored opponent. You were clearly right to do so, however- the day is thine! Perhaps tomorrow, my luck will be better.” He smiled ruefully, and leaned down. As he stood back up, Jack saw what had caused him to slip. It was a chunk of wood, brightly painted. He had stepped on it during the fight. “Perhaps then the squires might be more meticulous about clearing the field?” Ancelyn asked, pointedly.

Jack smiled. “Good fight!” he said. He held out a hand to Ancelyn. Ancelyn took it and shook it heartily. They both then made to leave the field. Some of the other knights began to trickle back into the enclosure, now that the show was over.

Suddenly, a voice rang out, cutting through the background noise. “Wait,” it said. “I would challenge thee.”


	7. Three Touches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Practice goes badly for Jack. All is not well in Camelot.

Everyone fell silent, and turned to stare at the speaker. The voice belonged to a young man, perhaps a few years younger than Ancelyn. He was dark-haired, with an aristocratic carriage. Jack supposed that someone else might have found the young man handsome. For Jack, however, his looks were spoiled by the contemptuous sneer on his face.

“Which of us are you challenging, Sir Mordred?” Ancelyn called. His voice was notably cautious. “And to what purpose?” Jack’s mind was racing. Mordred was one of the Arthurian names he knew, and his associations with it were not good.

“Why, practice, of course,” Mordred responded, disingenuously, striding across the field. “And furthermore, this ‘Sir Jack’ has dispatched one of my uncle’s finest knights quite handily. I wish to defend the honor of my king. To three touches?” he asked, directing the last toward Jack.

“My lord’s honor is quite unbesmirched by the outcome of this contest,” Ancelyn said, disapprovingly. “And Sir Jack is only recently out of his sick bed. He has acquitted himself well- he need not answer your challenge.”

“Oh, he need not,” Mordred answered, his tone mocking. “But will he? What say you, Sir Jack?”

“Who doesn’t need more practice?” Jack said, lightly. His back ached from the unaccustomed weight of the armor, and the sword was heavy in his hand. This would be over soon, and then Mordred could leave him alone, secure in his own superiority. “Three touches is fine by me.”

Ancelyn shot him a look that Jack found difficult to read- exasperation, maybe. He and the other knights cleared the field. Jack and Mordred were left alone, circling each other. After a moment, Mordred attacked. He hit faster and harder than Ancelyn, and while Jack was able to block the strike, he felt the shock of impact down to his feet. _He’s not pulling his strikes,_ Jack realized. When he’d fought Ancelyn, neither of them had hit as hard as they could have. The goal had been to get past the other man’s defenses, to show that he _could_ have wounded the other man, had this been a real bout. As Jack closed again, he could see naked malice in Mordred’s eyes, and he knew that- for whatever reason- this man wished him real and physical harm.

Behind him, he heard Ancelyn shout “Mordred!” Mordred swung at his left side, and Jack raised his sword to block. As soon as he’d done it, he realized that it was a mistake.

Mordred changed his attack at the last moment, pulling back his sword and thrusting at Jack’s torso. The blade impacted his chest, and Jack staggered backward, dropping his sword into the sand. Mordred, with a momentary look of satisfaction, pulled his blade free. Mordred advanced on Jack again. Pressing his off hand against the wound, Jack prepared to deal with Mordred- most likely by trying to run away.

Before he could get to that, however, Ancelyn stormed up with his blade drawn. “Mordred!” he shouted again. “Stand down!”

As Jack watched, Mordred composed his face into an expression of concern and dismay. “Oh, don’t be so dramatic, Ancelyn,” Mordred said, turning. “I was just trying to look into Sir Jack’s welfare. I had not intended to strike him so hard. Now, if you’re quite done waving your sword in my face, perhaps we’d better make certain that he is not injured.”

Ancelyn turned to face Jack. “How fare you, Sir Jack?” he asked.

Nodding to Ancelyn, Jack dropped his hands to his sides, taking what he hoped was a more knightly stance. He looked around for his sword. “Well enough,” he said. “That was your first touch, Mordred.”

Ancelyn’s face went pale. “Sir Jack,” he said, his voice thin and oddly dangerous. He was suddenly at Jack’s side, his arms around Jack’s shoulders. It seemed strange to Jack, but not unwelcome. Ancelyn looked up at Mordred. “This bout is over,” he snarled, half to Jack and half to Mordred. “Geoff! Deiniol! Call for a stretcher!” The two boys, waiting off to the side, took off running.

Jack looked down. His hand was covered in blood. Suddenly, he felt cold. Shock, of course. Mordred’s thrust had been strong enough to penetrate the armor, and his ribcage besides. Now that he could see the wound, he also felt the pain. Without meaning to, he staggered a little, and Ancelyn caught him.

“You’ll pay for this, Mordred!” Ancelyn promised, holding Jack up. “My lord cannot possibly allow this insult to his hospitality to stand, whether you be his nephew or no.”

“Maybe, and maybe not, Ancelyn,” Mordred answered, too quietly for the crowd to hear. “Perhaps we’ll find out once and for all which one of us he holds more dear.” He turned, and stalked away.

\------------------------------------------

Jack allowed himself to be lowered onto the stretcher. It felt good to lie down; Mordred had definitely punctured one of his lungs; it was getting to be hard to breathe. Jack gave it about even money as to whether his liver had been sliced open as well.

It was clear that Mordred had some sort of issue with Ancelyn, and had chosen to take it out on Jack. What wasn’t clear was whether Mordred had intended to kill him or not. Jack was curious to find out. If the sisters could keep him from dying, Mordred had probably just meant to wound him. If they couldn’t... well, Jack would have some explaining to do to them, when he revived.

As the stretcher bearers reached the door of the infirmary, Jack could hear shouting, and angry voices. None of them seemed angry at him, at least. Someone put a mask over his face, and he drifted into a soft, warm unconsciousness.

\------------------------------------------

Jack opened his eyes, and the grey walls of the infirmary swum into view. It took him a moment to orient himself. TARDIS crashed, Doctor unconscious (at least last time he’d checked), stuck in weird King Arthur land, then Mordred stabbed him with a sword. He didn’t feel any pain at the moment. This might have been surprising, but he could tell that there were some serious opiates in his system.

He sat up, and looked around. The Doctor was lying in the bed next to him, still hooked up to an IV. He himself was also hooked to an IV. He had been stripped to the waist, and there was a bandage over his chest. By the itching and the weird stretchy feeling, he guessed that someone had been at him with a tissue regenerator. Apparently, Mordred had not wanted him dead. For what that was worth.

“For God’s sake, lie down! The tissue bond is very thin still. If you move too much, you could rupture it and begin bleeding again. And we had a damnably messy time of it, stopping you bleeding to death the first time.” He knew the voice before its owner came into view- it was the Mother Abbess. He’d been hoping it would be Bethan; she was more decorative.

Jack obediently lay back down, carefully. “Sorry to be an inconvenience,” he said, his lips quirking up into a smile.

The Mother Abbess _humphed_ at him. “It wasn’t your fault. It was that idiot boy, Mordred. Every other week, he’s sending some playmate of his here. Not typically with near-fatal injuries, mind you.”

“Nice to know I merit special consideration,” Jack said. “How long have I been out?”

“A few hours. I didn’t expect you to be awake yet, to be frank.” She looked at him speculatively. “More of your Torchwood magic?”

He shrugged. “I don’t really know. I process drugs in general quicker than most people. And while we’re on the subject, may I just say that, as lovely as whatever opiate you’re using is, would you turn it off? I can handle the pain, and I’d rather not be high, just now.” He smiled charmingly at her. Between the Doctor still being incapacitated, and someone having stabbed him, Jack was not going to put his back to any metaphorical doors if he could help it.

“If you like,” she said, and shrugged. She went to a panel near his bed, and pushed a few buttons. “It will take a little while to wear off- though perhaps less time for you. Let me know when you want it back on,” she said, pointedly.

“You’ll be the first to know,” Jack said warmly, ignoring the implication that he’d change his mind. He had a pleasant (if pharmaceutically-induced) outlook on life at the moment, and was inclined to forgive her her skepticism.

You’re awake!” Ancelyn said, coming into the room. “I was given to understand that you would be asleep for some time yet.”

“So we were just discussing,” Jack said. “Sorry to disappoint. I can close my eyes and pretend, if you want.”

“I think I can reconcile myself to your consciousness well enough,” Ancelyn said. “It is good to see that you will take no lasting harm from Sir Mordred’s... incautiousness.”

“Thanks to the ladies here,” Jack said, grinning flirtatiously at the Mother Abbess. “So, when am I allowed to sit up, ma’am?”

“Bed rest for a few hours at least, and nothing strenuous for a few days. And for God’s sake, don’t stress the wound. It will look fine on the outside after a day or so, but there’s the internal damage to consider as well.” She glared at him sternly. “I don’t care to have my hard work undone.”

“I will see that he follows your instructions,” Ancelyn said, in a serious tone of voice. “This incident is enough of a stain on my lord’s honor, without Sir Jack taking further harm.”

“Yes, well, if your lord would reign in his nephew, he would not have this problem,” the Mother Abbess said, pointedly. “I’m tired of patching up Mordred’s ‘incidents’.”

“It is not for us to question how our king manages his household,” Ancelyn answered, stiffly. It was clear that he did not like to hear Arthur criticized.

There was a flash of emotion across the Mother Abbess’s face- anger? Pain? Jack wasn’t sure. She turned quickly, and pushed a bowl into Ancelyn’s hand. “Gruel for him today,” she said. “He can eat at table tomorrow, if all goes well. If you’re so keen to defend the honor of your lord’s family, you can help clean up their messes, too.” She stalked out of the room.

Ancelyn, left holding the bowl, looked sad and lost for a moment. “I’m sorry,” he said, to Jack. “She does not like Sir Mordred.”

The pain was beginning to return, but it was nothing Jack couldn’t handle. “He seems to inspire that reaction in people. I have to admit, he’s not my favorite guy right now.” He was suddenly cognizant that he’d had nothing to eat for hours, and he could smell the gruel in the bowl Ancelyn was holding. “That’s probably the same gruel from breakfast, isn’t it?”

Ancelyn looked at the bowl, as if surprised to see it. “Oh, yes. Here. Apologies once more for the food; I swear that there are other things to eat in Camelot aside from gruel!” He brought it over and set it on the little table next to the bed. With his help, Jack sat up again, very carefully, and propped himself up to eat.

He managed to eat the food- it was just as bitter and watery as he remembered it from breakfast, but his hunger made up for the taste. When the bowl was empty, he felt suddenly very tired, and very pained. His particular gifts would see that he was healed soon, but his body wanted its dues in the meantime. “Mordred,” Jack said to Ancelyn, suddenly.

The knight looked up, startled. His eyes flicked to the door, and then back again. Seeing that Mordred was not there, he relaxed visibly. “No, my name is Ancelyn,” he said, half-grinning. “I know that the Mother Abbess uses only the best drugs, but I thought you would notice the difference in hair color, at least.”

“I had her stop giving me the pain meds, actually.” Jack was really feeling the consequences of that decision, now. “But, no, what I meant was, why does he hate you? I mean, I’m not stupid enough to think that this was about me.” Jack gestured to his chest. “He’s obviously got some kind of score to settle with you. What is it?”

Ancelyn sighed. “I fear it is even more convoluted than that. His mother dislikes me, and the Orkneys are nothing if not loyal to their kin. The Lady Morgaine, though, is canny enough to express her distaste for me... appropriately. Mordred has always been rash.”

Jack cocked an eyebrow. “What did you do to offend her?” he said. “Or is she just annoyed because you’re friends with the king, like your Sir Kai is?”

Ancelyn’s voice pitched low. “It is not the same, really. Kai dislikes me because he wishes to protect the king from my influence. Morgaine dislikes me because she wishes to have my lord to herself, and no other voices in his ear but hers.”

“Exciting place you have here,” Jack said, and it came out meaner than he meant it to. The pain was making him snappish.

“I am sorry you are involved,” Ancelyn said, sadly. “I am useless with these courtly intrigues, myself. Everything passes me by. It is just as well that I spend so much time away from Camelot. I just wish that my lord Arthur had better and wiser voices to listen to.”

Jack leaned back, and closed his eyes. Ancelyn’s fingers brushed over the back of his hand. It startled Jack, and he snapped his eyes open.

“I see that you are much tired, Sir Jack,” Ancelyn said. “May I wait here, while you rest? As I said, the honor of my household is at stake.”

“Well, if it’s _honor_ that we’re talking about...” Jack said, half joking. He ought to be fine, once he’d gotten a little more sleep. He laid back, and closed his eyes.


	8. Royal Audiences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack meets Morgaine, and goes to speak to King Arthur.

He woke to the sound of Ancelyn arguing with someone. “He is not taking visitors,” Ancelyn said, and his voice was tight and low. “He is resting from his wound.”

A woman’s voice answered him, contemptuously. “Please. I don’t believe for a moment that the wound is as bad as you say it is. I’ve had my son’s side of the story, and I insist on hearing this stranger’s tale as well.”

“I have given thee my own account of the incident,” Ancelyn replied, frustration evident in his tone. “I swear to thee that I have been as complete and accurate as I could be. Thou shouldst return when he wakes.”

She snorted. “And I’m to give credence to the word of the bastard son of some scullery whore? No, thank you.” Her voice dripped poison.

There was a long pause. When Ancelyn spoke again, his voice was strained, and barely audible. “If not for your sex, Lady,” he said, “I would demand satisfaction for that insult here and now.”

“That is very convenient for me,” she said. “Why don’t you complain of me to the king, instead? I’m sure that he would favor you over his blood kin.”

“Lady, your position of favor is unassailable.” Ancelyn’s voice was colored with barely controlled anger. “I have never tried to usurp it. I have only ever tried to do my duty to my lord king.”

“How knightly of you,” she cooed. “Your mother would be proud, if she were alive to feel anything. Now, I intend to walk through that door. Are you going to stop me?” There was a long pause. “I thought not,” she said.

The door opened, and the owner of the voice strode into the room. She was tall, compared to most of the women he’d seen here. She had red hair and glittering green eyes, with which she looked imperiously down at him.

He decided that it would be best to act groggy. The less she thought he’d heard of that conversation, the better. He pulled himself upright. The sheet fell down, revealing his bandaged chest. He made no move to pull it up; maybe she’d find it distracting. “Well, good _morning_ ,” he said, yawning. “Or is it afternoon now? Or evening? Actually, what day is it?”

She smiled at him. It was the sort of smile you only give because you know it’s expected. “Hello, Sir Jack,” she said. “I am the Lady Morgaine, sister to the king, and mother to Sir Mordred.”

He refrained from flirting with her. Usually, this would have been a sign of special restraint on his part, but just now he was finding it remarkably easy. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, lady,” he said, smiling back. “You’ll excuse me if I don’t get up.” Truthfully, though, the wound no longer hurt. It was certainly entirely healed, between his own unusual abilities and the efforts of the sisters- not that Morgaine needed to know that.

“Yes, the accident this morning,” she said, cautiously. Which meant it was still the same day. It also meant that she was unsure whether he accepted it as an accident or not. “Art thou well?”

“As well as can be expected,” Jack said, amiably. “How’s Mordred?”

She looked at him curiously. “He is uninjured,” she said, curtly. “Do you not recall what happened this morning?”

“Oh, I remember,” Jack said, airily. “Getting stabbed has a way of sticking in the memory.”

Her lips tightened into a thin line. “Tell me everything that you remember, if you please.”

He smiled at her in a friendly fashion. He could tell that it irritated her, and he couldn’t resist. “Ancelyn and I sparred,” he said. “I managed to beat him, pretty much on accident.”

“You do not give yourself your proper due,” Ancelyn said, from the doorway. “It was a worthy match.”

Jack made a throwaway gesture. “When we were done, Mordred challenged me to three touches. He got the one,” he pointed towards his chest, “and then Ancelyn stopped the match. That’s about it- is there anything else you wanted to know?” He smiled at her again. Her lips tightened even further. He hadn’t thought it was possible.

“You should excuse Sir Jack’s tone,” Ancelyn broke in. “I think that the sisters’ medications are affecting him.”

Morgaine sniffed. “I insist on examining the wound,” she said.

“Absolutely not.” The Mother Abbess had apparently entered from somewhere while Jack was focused on Morgaine, because she stepped up to Jack’s bedside now. There was ice in her voice. “I can give you detailed information about the wound, and the work we did on it- but I will not have you disturbing the healing process of one of my patients.”

Both women glared at each other, each unwilling to give ground. Finally, Morgaine broke away. “I will speak to my brother about this,” she hissed, and whirled out of the room.

Jack noticed suddenly that the Mother Abbess’s hands were shaking. She saw him watching, and glared at him. Then she stalked off in the other direction. “You knew I wasn’t on any drugs,” Jack observed to Ancelyn, conversationally.

“I also knew that it would be dangerous for you to anger the Lady Morgaine unnecessarily,” Ancelyn said, an eyebrow raised. He looked away. “You heard my conversation with the Lady Morgaine, didn’t you?” It wasn’t really a question.

“Hard not to hear it,” Jack said, cautiously.

“I would not want you to believe her lies about me,” Ancelyn said, defensively. “I am the legal heir of my father, and no bastard.”

“I wouldn’t have believed her if she told me the sky was blue,” he said, raising his eyebrows. He suspected that there was truth in what Morgaine had said, though, or she wouldn’t have bothered to say it. Jack also noted Ancelyn’s wording, and what he hadn’t contested. Maybe he had been born a bastard and his father had legitimized him. Maybe Ancelyn’s mother was just lowborn. Regardless, Jack didn’t care.

Ancelyn relaxed. “Good,” he said, a bit awkwardly. He coughed. “How are you feeling?”

“Much better,” said Jack. He was indeed completely healed, as far as he could tell. He stood up, summarily disconnecting himself from the monitoring equipment. He had no doubt that it was there more to satisfy the Mother Abbess’s curiosity than for his own benefit.

“Excellent,” said Ancelyn. He made no move to stop Jack. “Then you will be ready to meet with my lord Arthur.” He paused. “You might at least _attempt_ to look like a man who came near death this morning,” he said, with a slightly aggrieved tone.

“Ancelyn,” said Jack, laughing, “I’m _always_ a man near death. It’s not my fault that I look so good doing it.”

\--------------------------------

Ancelyn brought him a new set of clothes, since he’d managed to bleed on everything else he’d worn for the last few days. These clothes were much nicer than the set he’d worn for sparring. The pants were softer than the previous pair, and tight enough to show off all Jack’s attributes. Fortunately for anyone not inclined to appreciate Jack’s attributes in detail, there was also a long overtunic that went down to mid-calf. The overtunic had embroidered lions worked in heavy thread all across the collar and cuffs. There was also a thick leather belt, tooled with celtic knotwork and beautifully painted. Jack dressed quickly, and presented himself to Ancelyn for inspection. He looked sharp enough in the clothes, he supposed, but he couldn’t help missing his trousers, and braces, and coat.

“I thought the lions would suit you,” Ancelyn said, on seeing him. He adjusted Jack’s belt so that it sat a bit lower on his hips, and smoothed the tunic. “The fashions are quite different in Torchwood, are they not?”

“Very,” Jack said, supressing a smile.

“It might serve you to appear before the court in your own clothes, once they are cleaned,” Ancelyn said, calculatingly. “It would look very exotic, which might be to your advantage.” He shrugged. “But today, we will speak only to my lord, and he will not care how you are dressed.”

Ancelyn walked with Jack through the hallways of the palace. Jack wondered if they were going back to the throne room, but instead, they came to a smaller, more private chamber. There was a fireplace in the room, and several comfortable-looking chairs. The king sat in one of them. His appearance was the same- gold circlet, tousled brown hair. But his bearing was stiffer, more regal. He looked older, somehow.

“I was just wondering if you had gotten lost,” Arthur said to Ancelyn.

“No, my lord,” Ancelyn said. “Sir Jack was resting when I returned to fetch him.” He paused. “Also, your lady sister visited.”

Arthur looked at Jack with a wry expression. “You seem no worse for the experience, at least.”

“She’s a formidable woman, your sister,” Jack allowed. “Mind if I sit down?”

Arthur gestured to a chair. “Please.” He looked up at Ancelyn, and also gestured him to sit. “You have put me in a difficult position as regards her, Ancelyn.”

Ancelyn sat down, stiffly. “You know that I have never tried to offend her a-purpose, my lord,” he said.

“And yet,” said Arthur, “here we are. Again.” He turned to Jack, who was now sitting in one of the armchairs. “I had hoped to speak with you under better circumstances, Sir Jack,” he continued, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He paused a moment, and then looked Jack in the eye. “Ancelyn has made an accusation. He tells me that my nephew, knowing that I had offered you hospitality, wounded you with all intent. My sister, on the other hand, swears that her son did no such thing, and that it was an accident that sent you to the healing houses today. So, as you see, I am placed between my friend, and my kin.” He sighed heavily. “You come from some other land, Sir Jack, and owe me no especial allegiance. But I would ask you, as a favor, to advise me honestly. You would know more than any the truth of the matter.”

“Ancelyn’s right, your Majesty,” Jack said. “Mordred meant to do what he did.”

Arthur’s face fell. “I feared that you would say this. So, Ancelyn, what am I to do? Which do I sacrifice- my kin, or my honor?”

Jack could see pain in Ancelyn’s eyes. “My lord,” Ancelyn said, quietly. “I cannot tell you what you should do. Only you can decide.” He bowed his head. “I am truly sorry to have brought this to you.”

Arthur turned to Jack, his body rigid with emotion. “You see, Sir Jack,” he said, bitterly, “Ancelyn is a loyal man. And a truly loyal man tells his lord what he believes his lord needs to know. Even if his lord wishes that he had not, wishes that he would never do it again. You would do this again, wouldn’t you, Ancelyn?” he asked, mockingly.

“Always, my lord,” Ancelyn whispered. He was stiff, his head bowed.

“Even if I ordered you not to?” Arthur’s voice raised angrily. “Even if I threatened to punish you for ever speaking ill of my family again?”

“Even still, my lord,” Ancelyn answered. His voice was raw.

Arthur subsided, sinking back into his chair. There was a moment of uncomfortable silence in the room. When he spoke again, his voice was filled with a quiet sadness. “Then I must try to be a king worthy of such loyalty,” he said. He stood up, and went to the door. There was a guard outside. “Fetch the Lady Morgaine, and my nephew Mordred,” he said. “At once.”


	9. The Doctor Wakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur passes judgment on Mordred, and Jack goes looking for the Doctor.

They sat in silence, waiting for Morgaine and Mordred to arrive. Jack found himself trying to work out how he’d managed to get embroiled in the middle of local politics in less than a day here. What was worse, he was in the middle of a family dispute- which were, in Jack’s experience, the most painful and embarrassing kind. The only consolation was that it wasn’t _his_ family he was dealing with.

The door slammed open, and Morgaine swept into the room. “My royal brother,” she said, and it wasn’t _quite_ an insult. “Why have you summoned us here?” Jack could see how it chafed for her to show deference to a boy who was less than half her age.

“I have made a decision,” Arthur said, mildly. “Mordred, you have acted rashly, and without regard for my word, or the honor of our house.” He paused. “And it is not the first time,” he added, sadly. “This kingdom is ruled by laws, Mordred. When I established them, I told my people that these laws would bind us all. When you attacked Sir Jack, you broke them. I cannot make exceptions, not even for my own kin.”

“What are you saying, Uncle?” Mordred was angry, but his voice was filled with more petulance than rage. “Are you going to have me up on the block for hitting some stranger with a sword? He was barely even hurt! Look at him!”

Arthur looked Mordred straight in the eye, and for all that he spoke quietly, his words were made of steel. “You betrayed me,” Arthur said, coldly. “For one of my own household, one of my own _blood_ , to attack someone that I had made a guest...” he trailed off, a look of disgust on his face. “The sentence is banishment, Mordred. Please, do not force me to sentence you in front of the court. I would not have my family’s shame dragged out in public.”

“Shame?” Morgaine snarled. “You speak of shame, when you believe the word of a household knight over your own nephew?” She spun and turned on Ancelyn. “I know that you were behind this. You have conspired against my son for years!”

Ancelyn remained silent. She rounded on Arthur again, raising herself up to her full, most imperious height. “Do not think we will go quietly, Arthur Pendragon.” She spat the last name as if it were a curse. “We will have vengeance for this injustice.”

“The sentence might be mitigated,” Arthur said. His voice was quiet, still. “Mordred wronged Sir Jack. If some service can be rendered him, the banishment might be shortened.” He paused. “You have many talents, sister. Sir Jack’s companion is ill, and will not wake. You might be able to help him. If you are able to restore him, I will shorten the length of Mordred’s banishment to only a year.” He looked to Jack. “If you consider that a fair and just recompense for what was done to you, Sir Jack.”

“By all means,” Jack said.

“Will you accept this judgment, sister?” Arthur asked. Jack noted that he did not consult Mordred. There was no question who was in charge of his fate.

She glared at Arthur. He stared back at her. There was no emotion in his face, and he did not yield in the face of her anger. Finally, she looked away. “Very well,” she spat. “Mordred, see to the packing of our household. I intend to be away from here by nightfall. I would not stay another day in this place.”

Mordred was clearly angry at being dismissed in this way, but he took one look at the expression on his mother’s face, and did as she asked.

“Let us go to the Houses of Healing,” Arthur said. “That the terms of Mordred’s sentence begin to be fulfilled.”

\-------------------------------------------

Morgaine took the lead, and Arthur seemed happy enough to let her. Ancelyn walked behind Arthur, with Jack.

“What does he mean by ‘many talents’?” Jack asked. “I mean, I could use my imagination, but...” He let the sentence trail off into innuendo, a grin on his face.

“Magic,” said Ancelyn in a low voice. “She has magical gifts, particularly related to divination. They say that she knows men’s minds by just looking at them, and has prophetic dreams. She also knows more about the Fair Folk than any other in Camelot.”

So, Jack translated, she was psychic. Telepathic at least, maybe also precognitive. It might mean she could help; the Doctor wasn’t likely to have stayed unconscious this long from a purely physical injury.

They arrived at the infirmary again. It was starting to feel home-like to Jack. As they entered, they were faced with the Mother Abbess, staring Morgaine down. Bethan was trying to look busy on the other side of the room. “What business have you here, Morgaine?” she asked. “I thought I made myself clear, the last time we talked.”

“Oh, please,” sniffed Morgaine. “I’m not here for Sir Jack. I’m here for the other one- what was his name?- and on the king’s request. It seems he thinks that I might be capable of healing him. It’s unfortunate that _you’ve_ been unable to help the poor man.” Arthur stood quietly off to the side, with the air of a man who had no intention of getting involved in this particular conflict. Jack sympathized.

The Mother Abbess gritted her teeth. “He is called the Doctor, apparently.” She glanced at Jack briefly, and he gave her a slight nod. “This way.” She stepped aside.

“What is wrong with him?” Morgaine asked, sweeping into the room.

“It is difficult to say,” the Mother Abbess equivocated. “There is no sign of trauma severe enough to keep him unconscious. But the brain is a complicated thing- and of course, with him, it could be anything. He is one of the Fair Folk, after all.”

Morgaine looked down at the Doctor. “He is not,” she said.

The Mother Abbess’s brow furrowed. “He has two hearts. His body temperature is so low, I would have taken him for a corpse. He is not human.”

“That may be, Mother Abbess. But, whatever he is, he is not one of the Fair Folk,” Morgaine insisted, with a touch of condescension in her voice.

Jack didn’t like where this conversation was going. “Why do you say that?” he asked.

Morgaine turned to him, annoyance and disdain warring for dominance on her face. “Because his aura is wrong, knight.” _Not that you would know anything about it,_ she didn’t say. She didn’t say it very loudly. “All living creatures give off an energy. The energy of the Fair Folk has a certain appearance, for those who know how to look for it. His is different.” She frowned. “I have never seen anything like it,” she said.

 _I believe that_ , Jack thought.

“Why is he bandaged there?” Morgaine asked, pointing at the Doctor’s chest.

“Broken ribs,” Jack said, speaking up. “One of his hearts stopped, and I broke them starting it again.”

She nodded, and then examined the Doctor’s IV. “Remove that,” she said, indicating the saline drip. “I cannot have steel or salt on him. It will disrupt my magic. Can he be moved?”

“If it is done gently,” Sister Bethan said, speaking up.

The Mother Abbess herself carefully removed the IV needle from the Doctor’s arm. The Doctor was carefully transferred into a stretcher, and two men in servant’s dress appeared to carry him. They walked through the palace, coming finally into a courtyard, lined with trees,with a stone table at the center. The servants laid the Doctor on the table. Jack went to the Doctor’s side, making sure that he was arranged as comfortably as possible. The stone was colder than it seemed it should be for the ambient temperature, but Jack didn’t expect that the Doctor would mind.

Seeing him there, Morgaine glared at him, but did not object. She set about preparing the room for the ritual. Lamps were lit around the edges of the courtyard. She called for certain supplies to be brought, and then set about doing mysterious things with herbs and a cauldron. In the end, she had a small bowl of a greenish paste, and a crown woven of thin branches.

Morgaine looked at him again, and cocked her head. “You will stay out of my way, and out of contact with him, or I will have you escorted out,” she said, coldly.

He raised his hands. “No problem,” he told her. He drew back, away from her.

She began laying out a circle in salt, drawing it closed around her, Jack, and the Doctor. “None may cross this line,” she said, as though she were intoning some dire curse. Those watching- Arthur, Ancelyn and the sisters- gave their assent with their silence. She reached for the bowl of paste. With an ungentle finger, she smeared some on both the Doctor’s eyes, and his lips. She then dabbed it more carefully on her own eyes and lips. She laid the crown on the Doctor’s chest. “Oak, and mistletoe,” she said. “Bound in a circle for strength, and healing, and rebirth.”

Morgaine moved to the head of the stone platform, and began chanting, her arms raised. If there were actual words, they weren’t words that the TARDIS cared to translate. She lowered her hands, touching the Doctor’s temples. Jack held his breath.

She bowed her head, and Jack lost sight of her face. There was a moment where she was still. Then she went rigid. Her head flew back, and her eyes rolled up into her head. She staggered back, gasping, pulling her hands away as if she had been burned.

Jack could sympathize. He wasn’t especially psychic. He’d never tried to enter the Doctor’s mind, but he’d had the Doctor in his before. It had been terrifying. For just a few moments, he’d caught a glimpse of the Time Lord’s psyche. His brain had manufactured image after image, trying to describe the impossible input it was seeing: a raging storm, a tower of flame, a river of swirling color. He didn’t envy Morgaine, trying to enter that maelstrom unprepared.

She grimaced. “He is like nothing-” she gasped, and then stopped. Apparently unwilling to admit defeat, she shook herself, and steeled herself to return. “I will find him,” she said, purposefully, and went back to the Doctor. She put her hands to his temples. Jack could see her gritted teeth. She was still for a long moment, and another, and another. The tension in the room as they waited was palpable.

Then the Doctor began to scream.

He convulsed on the stone table, his muscles straining against the confines of his skin. His eyes snapped open, unseeing, as he screamed to the sky. Jack realized then that Morgaine was also screaming, her pitch matched so precisely to his that it seemed as though one voice was coming from two mouths. She was otherwise immobile, her hands locked onto the Doctor’s head.

Arthur leapt to his feet, and made to intervene. “No!” Jack shouted, holding out a hand. Arthur hesitated. “No! If you pull them apart while they’re linked, it could kill them both!” Jack unbelted his tunic, and dropped both belt and overtunic to the floor, leaving him only in his white shirt. It was pointless, but just as Morgaine had her rituals, he had his. He approached the pair cautiously, one hand reaching toward the Doctor’s head, and the other towards Morgaine’s. He would not have been able to initiate a link himself, but with two psychics already in concert, the physical contact might be enough to pull him in. “Wish me luck,” he said, glancing back at Ancelyn.

His fingers made contact. In one moment, he was touching warm flesh, cool flesh. In the next, he was on fire. For an eternity, there was nothing but pain, his mind flooded and overloaded with data it could not process. Jack thought he might die, but of course, he was the man who _couldn’t_ die. Finally, his mind adjusted. He saw the Doctor, writhing in pain. Or, it might have been a bright phoenix, burning with immortal flame. Or, it might have been a funnel-cloud, crackling with lightning. Whatever/whoever the apparition was, it was bound around with a cold, tarry blackness, dragging him down into a misty distance that Jack couldn’t make out. As he watched, he realized that there was a great golden eagle with two heads, trying to pull the Doctor free. It was trapped by the same inky black tendrils that kept the apparition prisoner. The eagle’s eyes, he realized suddenly, were green.

In a moment, Jack found himself holding the same great blade he’d wielded that morning in practice. He knew without checking that this time, it was deadly sharp. Crying out, he descended on the blackness, hacking at it, trying to cut the phoenix free. The eagle screeched and struggled, pulling against the blackness. Jack raised his sword, swinging again and again and again. The blackness fought back, refusing to release its prisoner. For every dark tendril that Jack cut, another grew, grasping at the Doctor, holding him still. The funnel cloud twisted and crackled, trying to get free.

Jack concentrated his attack on a single point. It gave the eagle what it needed. With a triumphant screech, the eagle pulled the Doctor free from the tendrils, and flew upward with all its strength. There was a mighty, wheezing scream from below, and Jack was hit with a wave of sadness and loss. He watched the eagle fly out of sight, the Doctor a small figure in its talons.

And then it was over. He came to himself kneeling on the ground, his hands still stretched up toward the Doctor and Morgaine. His shirt was drenched in red blood. It took him a little while to realize that it must be his; neither of the others were bloodied. Apparently, undressing had been a smart move after all.

The Doctor was curled into a ball. Jack jumped to his feet, and took the Time Lord into his arms. There were tears running down the Doctor’s face, and his hair was damp with sweat. “Jack?” the Doctor asked, his voice heavy with grief. “Jack? I can’t feel her anymore. She’s gone!” His voice broke, and his body shook with sobbing.

“Shh,” soothed Jack. He smoothed the Doctor’s hair back. He suddenly realized what those tendrils must have been, and who it was had screamed that last desperate scream in his mind. “Shh. It’s alright. She’s not gone. She’s just hurt.”

“What did you do?” the Doctor whispered, clutching at Jack’s bloody shirt. “Where is she?”


	10. The Rassilon Imprimatur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor and Jack must deal with the consequences of Jack's actions.

Morgaine broke the circle. She cut the salt with her belt knife, and stalked out without a word to her brother. As she walked away, she turned once to Jack, her eyes flashing green. Then she was gone. Arthur, very quietly, followed her out. After they left, the sisters rushed in, checking over Jack and the Doctor. It was only then that Jack realized where the blood had come from. There were sticky trails of blood coming from his ears, his nose, his mouth, his eyes. No wonder that his shirt was drenched in the stuff- his brain must have started hemorrhaging as soon as he’d entered the link. _That must have been... decorative_ , Jack thought.

The Doctor, for his part, brushed the sisters away and demanded tea. It was obvious that he was still weak, but they let him be. Jack noticed Ancelyn eyeing him from across the room, but the knight also kept his peace, for the moment.

“Good to see you up again,” Jack said, looking out at the trees surrounding the courtyard. He sat down next to the Doctor.

The Doctor sipped his tea. “That was you in there, then?” the Doctor said. “That was a bit stupid, disrupting that kind of mind link. Could have burned your brain straight out. Still, you being you...” He stretched his neck as if working out the kinks. “Why can’t I feel the TARDIS anymore, Jack?” His voice was low, and smooth.

“I think we cut the link between the two of you,” Jack said, cautiously. “It’s hard to say.”

“You did _what?_ ” He said incredulously, his eyebrows jumping up. “That’s impossible! There’s no human psychic strong enough to interfere with the Rassilon Imprimatur on that level.” He seemed to take notice of his state of undress for the first time. “And why am I naked?” he asked, suspiciously.

“I broke your ribs,” Jack said. “Sorry about that. Didn’t see any point to putting your shirt back on after we bandaged you.” He paused. “One of your hearts stopped, and you were barely breathing. The TARDIS was almost dead. No power, no light at all. I think she was just managing to keep air in there, for our sakes.” Jack picked his overtunic up off the ground, and offered it to the Doctor. “Here, if it bothers you.”

The Doctor took it and pulled it on, wincing at the pain from his ribs. “You can’t have broken the link altogether,” he said. “The link can be transferred or weakened, but not just destroyed, not without consequences.” It sounded to Jack as though he were reassuring himself. The Doctor looked around, taking in their surroundings. “Where are we?” he said. “Wait, wait, hold on. I know you!” Jack followed the Doctor’s pointing finger. He was looking straight at Ancelyn, standing against the far wall of the courtyard. “You’re... Aglovale! No. Anselm! No. Ancelyn! That’s it.”

Ancelyn looked confused. He pulled himself up and came closer. “Have we met?” he asked.

“Yes!” said the Doctor. “No, not yet! Your future, my past. I thought this future had been destroyed in the War,” he said, speculatively. “No more travel between the dimensions. Wait! I remember! There was a storm, a gap in the vortex. Never seen anything like it; it shouldn’t exist. We fell through, and then there was the Void. Nothingness, nothing forever, but the TARDIS- oh, clever TARDIS!- it found a way through.” He looked over at Jack. “And here we are. Have you met Arthur yet? Or Morgaine?” He made a face. “She will not have been best pleased to see me, the last time I ran into her.”

Ancelyn looked at Jack. “Have his wits been addled by his injuries?” he asked, tentatively.

Jack laughed. “No, he’s pretty much like this. You just have to wait for him to take a breath, so you can get a word in edgewise.”

“Oi!” said the Doctor. “I’m right here! This is me, right here, listening to you talking about me.” He grimaced. “That got rather circular, didn’t it?” He shook his head. “Now, where’ve you put my clothes?”

“They are in the infirmary,” Ancelyn said, helpfully.

“Lead the way!” the Doctor said, standing up. Or he would have stood up, had his legs been capable of holding him. Jack caught him as he crumpled.

“Careful!” Jack said, shifting his grip on the Doctor so as to avoid his ribs. “You might want to take it slow.”

“Clothes,” said the Doctor, his face gone dark. “And then the TARDIS, and then you and I are going to talk, Jack.”

\--------------------------------------------------

Ancelyn and the Mother Abbess escorted them back to the infirmary. The Mother Abbess clearly wanted to ask questions, but Ancelyn deflected her. While Jack and the Doctor collected their clothes from the nun, Jack quietly asked Ancelyn if they could borrow horses. “I shall see what can be done,” the knight said, looking at him curiously. Then he was gone.

Jack changed quickly and went over to the Doctor. The Time Lord was struggling with his clothes, wincing from the pain of his broken ribs. “Can I help?” Jack asked.

“You’re not usually offering to get me _into_ my clothes,” the Doctor observed.

“First time for everything,” Jack said, cheerfully. He picked up the Doctor’s shirt. It needed mending, but it had been cleaned, at least. “Arms out.” He carefully slipped the shirt onto the Doctor. Then he came around front and began buttoning. “I make an excellent valet,” Jack said, his eyes twinkling. “Would sir like his tie and coat?” he said, in a very passable RP accent.

“Stop it,” the Doctor said, in his customary warning drawl.

“It’s a good thing you’re awake again,” Jack said, grinning. “Without you to stop me, I went and slept with half the castle. Fortunately, now you’ll be around to save the virtue of the other half.” Jack picked up the tie, pulled it around the Doctor’s collar, and tied it expertly in the Doctor’s customary half-Windsor.

“Let’s hope you weren’t sleeping with people’s wives, at least,” the Doctor muttered. “The last time we got run out of a place for that was quite enough.”

“Doctor,” said Jack, mock-wounded. “I never go for just the wives if I can help it. Husbands are so much fun, too!” He helped the Doctor into his jacket. “You know Ancelyn, then. Have you been here before?”

“Not exactly,” said the Doctor, all seriousness again. “We should talk later. Timelines. But first, we need to get to the TARDIS. I still can’t feel it. Whatever you did to the link to get me awake, we have to fix it.”

“Or what?” Jack asked, seriously.

“The TARDIS will die,” the Doctor said, bleakly. “Or it’ll manage to survive, but I won’t be able to fly it anymore. Or, if I’m unlucky, I’ll die when the link finally snaps completely.” There was real fear in his voice.

“Then we’d better get moving,” Jack said, holding out a hand to the Doctor.

\-----------------------

The three of them- Jack, the Doctor, and Ancelyn- rode through the undercity, and out into the countryside. The Doctor had walked out on his own power, even if he was still a little unsteady. The nuns had tried to protest as they left the infirmary (the Mother Abbess was particularly vehement about the effect of trotting on broken ribs), but neither Jack nor the Doctor was willing to yield. When they’d gotten to the stables, Ancelyn had had three horses saddled.

“I thought you might need help finding your way,” Ancelyn had said, with a sideways glance. “And besides, you still have the king’s hospitality. If anything more were to happen to you, he would be most displeased.”

Jack was unsurprised to see that the Doctor knew his way around a horse, though he’d never seen the Time Lord ride. It was a handy skill to know, and a thousand years was a long time. Jack considered trying to get some information out of the Doctor while they rode, but he saw Ancelyn pull his horse up close to the Doctor’s.

“Sir Jack tells us that you are called ‘the Doctor’, and naught else,” Ancelyn said. “Is that how you wish to be addressed?”

“Yes, just ‘the Doctor’,” the Time Lord answered, his gaze fixed on the road ahead.

“Have you truly no other name?” Ancelyn’s tone was one of polite curiosity.

“‘Course I do!” the Doctor answered. “I’ve got lots of names. But just ‘the Doctor’ will do for right now.”

“Then, Doctor,” Ancelyn started, and stopped. “You knew me, though I know you not. How can this be? Are you gifted with knowledge of the future?”

Jack expected a flip answer. Instead, the Doctor turned and looked hard at Ancelyn. “I live out of order,” he said. “It’s not that I’m a soothsayer. I’ve just literally met you before, sometime in your future. It was years ago for me, though.”

Ancelyn was quiet for a moment. “How can this be?” he asked. “How can a man live out of order? A moment passes, and is gone. It does not come again.”

“It can,” the Doctor said, contradicting him. “I’m sorry, but you’re wrong. It’s not that simple.” The Doctor cocked his head. “And I have a ship that can revisit those moments.”

“A ship that travels through time?” Ancelyn sounded dubious. “I have seen ships that travel through the air, or the water, or the land, or even the heavens themselves. But I have never seen a ship that travels through the hours.” He paused, and when he spoke again, his voice sounded wistful. “I should like to see such a thing,” he said.

“You’ll get your chance,” the Doctor answered. “Provided the TARDIS is still standing.”

\---------------------------

It took them another hour of riding to get to the spot where Ancelyn had found Jack. It was dark by the time they got there, and the moon was starting to rise. Jack started to retrace his steps from there back to the TARDIS.

“That’s a long way to go, carrying someone,” the Doctor noted as they walked their horses, looking sideways at Jack.

“It’s a good thing you’re so skinny,” Jack agreed.

A few moments later, they entered the clearing where the TARDIS stood, shaded by the surrounding trees. If Jack hadn’t known better, he would have said that it looked much the same as it always had. Jack heard the Doctor’s breath catch in his throat.

The Doctor went to the time ship, approaching it slowly as if it were a wounded animal. He reached out his hand, and brushed the door with his fingertips. Jack, watching closely, saw the Doctor flinch. The Time Lord pulled his hand away for just a moment, and then moved closer, putting his palm flat on the door. He continued, slowly, until his cheek rested against the door, his right hand still flat on the blue paneling. The Doctor closed his eyes, as if listening to something.

And then he pulled away, suddenly, reaching for his TARDIS key. “Right,” the Doctor said. “In we go.” He unlocked the door, and pushed it open. Inside, Jack could see only blackness. The Doctor poked his head in, and looked around. “Blimey!” he said. “It’s dark in there.”

“I have torches with me,” Ancelyn offered, helpfully. He reached into his saddlebags and pulled out something that looked like an actual torch- the kind that you light on fire. It took Jack a moment to realize that the knobby part on the end of the stick was actually an electric light.

“Very literal,” the Doctor commented, taking one. “Alright. Allons-y!”


	11. The TARDIS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor goes to deal with an injured TARDIS.

They walked into the TARDIS, and behind him, Jack heard Ancelyn freeze. The torches were not very bright, but bright enough that the dimensional transcendence of the time ship was obvious. Jack turned. “First time in a TARDIS,” he said, sympathetically.

“This is the ship of time?” Ancelyn whispered.

“Larger within than without,” the Doctor supplied, and it sounded to Jack vaguely as though he were quoting. “It’s good to see that the old girl is still in one piece, at least.” He held the torch up, surveying the damage. “More or less,” he amended.

“The rotor is damaged,” Jack said. “Is that even fixable?”

“Oh, yeah,” the Doctor said, with false bravado, “done it plenty of times. Now, let’s just see if we can get a decent look ‘round.” He pulled the sonic screwdriver out of his coat pocket, and pointed it at the torch. The torch flared bright, filling the console room with light. Jack could see now just how badly the ship was damaged. Debris was everywhere, and there were cracks all through the coral struts. The console showed no signs of life.

The Doctor jammed his torch into the floor, and went to the display. It didn’t respond to him. He fiddled with the controls, typed on the keys, soniced it, and finally resorted to hitting it. Nothing worked. The Doctor began pulling up floor panels, investigating dead circuitry and power cells. Finally, he threw a panel aside in frustration, leaning his head into one of his hands. “This happened once before,” the Doctor said, running his hand through his hair. “With Rose and Mickey. Fell right through the Void into an alternate world. We were very nearly stuck there- the TARDIS lost power, and the energy from that world was on the wrong frequency to let her recharge.”

“How did you get out?” Jack asked.

“I found a power cell, and I gave it my own life energy. Since I’m from the same universe as the TARDIS, it could use that. I was hoping I’d find another power cell this time, but there’s nothing! And besides, the damage is much worse. The TARDIS could heal itself, but it needs time, and lots of power. But it’s barely got enough power to keep it alive right now, much less get us home-” The Doctor broke off, looking into the distance. His eyes narrowed. “That’s why I wouldn’t wake up,” he said, with sudden realization. “She needed me. She was taking energy from me to stay alive!”

Jack was horrified. “She was _draining_ you? But-” he thought for a moment. “How long can she survive without access to a power source?”

“I don’t know,” said the Doctor, grimly. He pulled himself up and looked at the underside of the console. “No, no, no, no, no....” He started pulling panels open again, feverishly poking at wires and parts. Finally, he stopped, leaning his forehead against the edge of the console. Even in the dim light, Jack could see the Doctor’s eyes close. He sat there, still against the console for a long moment.

Suddenly, he popped his head up, and turned to Ancelyn. “D’you have rope?” he asked.

Ancelyn looked confused. “How much rope?” he asked.

“About...” The Doctor held out his arms, starting at the console, and walking sideways out toward the door. “...That much,” he said, pointing at the nearest of the horses.

“Doctor, what are you going to do?” asked Jack, suspiciously. He wasn’t sure what the Doctor had in mind, but he was reasonably certain that he wasn’t going to be happy about it.

“The TARDIS needs energy,” the Doctor said, with a wild grin. “And I’m going to give her what she needs.”

“Care to elaborate, Doc?” Jack ran his hand over one of the coral struts, wincing at the ugly crack that ran through it.

“D’you remember Blon Fel-Fotch?” the Doctor said. “The Slitheen?”

“Tried to blow up Cardiff, yeah,” Jack said. “I lived through that twice, by the way. It was hell to convince my team to stay inside and do nothing during all that.”

“Yeah, well,” the Doctor said, dismissively. “You remember what happened to old Blon.” He waggled his eyebrows, hands in his pockets.

“Of course. The energy from the rift was starting to crack the TARDIS open- along with the rest of the planet, I might add- and the TARDIS zapped her-” Jack suddenly realized what the Doctor intended to do. “You can’t be _serious_ , Doctor!”

“I am,” he said, in an affronted tone of voice. “We have two problems.” He held up a finger. “First, I can’t access my link to the TARDIS. And I’m very interested in talking to whoever it was who helped you manage that, by the way, because you apes shouldn’t be able to interfere with the Imprimatur.” He flicked up a second finger. “And second, the TARDIS doesn’t have enough energy to heal itself. This solves both problems. We crack open the console, I look into the heart, she siphons off whatever she needs, and it reestablishes the link. Home in time for tea.”

“If it doesn’t kill you,” Jack said, sarcastically. “Or drive you mad.”

“Oh, please,” the Doctor said, grinning again. “I’ve been mad for years.”

Jack frowned. “I mean it, Doctor. The last person to look into the heart of the TARDIS was Rose, and it would have killed her, if you hadn’t let it kill you first.”

“That was because Rose was human,” the Doctor said. “She couldn’t stop herself from absorbing the Vortex energy, and neither could Blon Fel-Fotch. But I’m not a human or a Slitheen. I’m a Time Lord. I can let the TARDIS have access to me, but not take the Vortex energy into myself. No Vortex energy, no dying.”

Jack glared at the Doctor. “Even if you can avoid absorbing the Vortex, you’d be letting her drain your life force. If she takes too much, would you even be able to regenerate?”

“Jack,” the Doctor said, his teeth gritted. “Jack, if a friend of yours was going to die, and you had to risk your life- your only life- for even the chance to save them, would you do it?”

“Doctor,” Jack said. He didn’t continue. He could only think of the moment when he’d done just that, and gladly. _Wish I'd never met you, Doctor, I was much better off as a coward._

“She’s _dying_ ,” the Doctor said, helplessly. “She’s going to die in the dark, alone and afraid.” He looked down for a moment, and then back up. “ _Help me_ , Jack.”

Jack turned to Ancelyn, who was standing awkwardly off to the side of the console room. “There was a farm nearby, where you got the wagon,” he said. “Would they have plow horses we could borrow?”

\-------------------------------------------

Some time later, Jack found himself tying rope to a horse collar by torchlight. “You got that end secured, Doctor?” he called into the TARDIS.

There was a clanging noise from inside, followed by a pause. “Not quite!” the Doctor called back. Jack patted the horse’s neck, smiling. He wouldn’t have thought that tying rope to the console would be a difficult maneuver, but perhaps there were complexities he wasn’t aware of.

Ancelyn, standing beside another horse, looked up. “I have finished here as well, Doctor,” he called. “‘Twill hold fast!”

There was more clanging, and the Doctor appeared, leaning out of the doorway. “Did you know that you can sonic rope?” he asked, grinning madly. He twirled his screwdriver in one hand. “‘Cause you can.”

“I take it you’re ready to go, then,” Jack said. He turned to Ancelyn. “Okay- when I give the signal, have the horses start pulling. I’ll go inside with the Doctor.”

“As you have said it, Sir Jack,” Ancelyn said, hands on the horse nearest him.

Jack walked toward the TARDIS. “Are you sure this is a good idea, Doctor?”

“It’s the only one I’ve got,” the Doctor answered. “And that’s saying something. Alright- you have Ancelyn start the horses going, and I’ll trip the controls to release the console.” The Doctor wouldn’t typically have needed something so blunt-force as plow horses to open the TARDIS console- but with the power out, desperate measures were called for. The Doctor would work the controls, the horses would provide the necessary kinetic energy.

“So,” Jack said, walking inside after the Doctor, “we pull the console open, and you look into the heart. What then?”

“I don’t know,” the Doctor said, with unusual candor. “I suppose we’ll find out.” He moved to the front of the console, and stood expectantly.

Jack frowned. “Ready, then?” he asked, reluctantly.

“As I’ll ever be,” he said, quietly. He reached out, and began manipulating the controls on the console.

Jack, standing off to the side, leaned towards the door. “Now!” he called.

The ropes went taut as the animals pulled and strained. For a moment, it seemed as if nothing was happening. Then there began to be a creaking sound. “Keep going!” Jack shouted. The creaking got louder, and louder. The ropes looked as though they might give, but the Doctor buzzed them with the sonic screwdriver again. The TARDIS began to shake, and Jack steadied himself against a strut. In front of him, there was a loud cracking noise. The console opened.

“Stop!” he called to Ancelyn. “Stop!” He turned, and looked toward the console.

When he’d seen the console open before, the light had been brilliant, blinding. It had been as if a tiny star lived inside the TARDIS, and from what Jack understood, that wasn’t far wrong. Now, though, it was dim. It seemed to Jack that it had the quality of light at sunset, when the shadows are long and the light glows yellow. Jack tried not to look at it. Instead, he watched the Doctor.

The Doctor walked toward the light, one hand extended. “Shhhh,” he whispered, as though to calm a child or a skittish animal. “Oh, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry you were alone. But here I am again. See? I wouldn’t leave you.” His tone of voice made Jack’s breath catch.

The light flared just a little, and the Doctor stared into it, hand still extended. Jack felt uncomfortably as if he were intruding on a private moment.

“Oh, you’re beautiful,” the Doctor breathed. “Really beautiful. It’s alright. I know you’re frightened, but I’m here. Come to me.”

The light flared again, and tendrils of the light began to creep towards the Doctor. “That’s right,” the Doctor said, encouragingly. Suddenly, the tendrils snaked out, slamming into the Doctor’s mouth and eyes. The Doctor’s body jerked twice, his arms falling limp to his sides and his head dropping back. He looked like a puppet, being held up only by the ropes of light going to his face.

“Doctor?” Jack called, alarmed. He had no idea whether this was supposed to happen or not. Inside the console, the light grew brighter.

From the doorway, Jack heard Ancelyn’s voice. “Sir Jack!” he called, uncertainly. He approached, skirting the edge of the console room. “Is this what he prepared for?”

“I don’t know,” said Jack. The Doctor was being lifted up in the air now, the toes of his trainers just barely touching the floor. The light from his eyes and mouth seemed to pulse. The rest of his body was limp and still. The silence in the TARDIS was unnerving. “I’m not sure he knew,” Jack said, as much to break the silence as anything.

“Might it indeed kill him?” Ancelyn asked, concerned. “He grows pale.”

Ancelyn was right. The Doctor’s skin seemed paler in the torchlight than it should. “I don’t know!” Jack repeated. They watched in uncertain silence. Suddenly, Jack heard a _pling_ noise, like a drop of fluid hitting metal. Shifting positions, he looked for the source of the noise. Another _pling_ , another drop, and he saw it. There was a trail of blood running from the Doctor’s nose, dripping onto the floor. Jack was closer now, and he had a better view of the Doctor. He was so pale as to be translucent, veins and arteries showing through his exposed skin like a road map. As Jack watched, the Doctor shuddered once, splattering more blood onto the floor. “That’s it.” Jack looked back to Ancelyn. “We have to stop this.”

“Dare we pull him away?” Ancelyn asked, edging closer. “I am loathe to interfere with this sorcery,” he said, warily.

“I won’t just stand here and let him die. We can close the console,” Jack said. “Or try.” He walked toward the console, careful not to get close to the Doctor. The whole console was lit now, glowing a dim green. Jack reached out and touched it, cautiously. Nothing happened. Experimentally, he pushed down on the top part of the console, where it had been pulled up and out. “Go around the other side,” he said to Ancelyn. “On three...”

Ancelyn positioned himself. “One... two... three!” Jack said, and he and the knight pushed with all their might. Nothing happened; the console did not budge. “Again!” Jack cried, leaning into it.

The console did not budge.

Jack stopped, leaning over the console. Motion caught his eye, and he turned to see the Doctor twitch again, his head lolling. As Jack watched, another drop of blood _pling_ ed onto the ground. The Doctor was bleeding from the eyes now, too. His body jerked again, and again. Jack felt despair. He bowed his head, both hands gripping the console so hard his knuckles turned white. “Let him go,” he begged the TARDIS. “You’re killing him. I know you don’t mean to. I know you’re hungry and afraid, but you have to let him go, or he’ll die.”

Across from him, he heard Ancelyn’s voice. “Look!” he said. “The light- it has stopped moving.”

Jack looked up. Ancelyn was right. The pulsing motion that he had perceived in the light before had stopped. His heart leapt. The TARDIS was responding to him. “That’s right,” he said, excited. “Let him go. I’ll take care of him, I promise. You know I will.”

Where it contacted the Doctor, the light grew dimmer, more tenuous. The Doctor was lowered to the ground, the heels of his feet hitting the floor. “Let him go, sweetheart,” Jack whispered. “Just let him go.”

In swift and sudden movement, the tendrils of light snapped away from the Doctor. The console, which had not yielded to their combined strength, pulled shut with an audible _snap_. The Doctor’s head dropped to his chest, and he stood shakily for a long moment. Then he crumpled to the floor.


	12. Interludes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack has two serious conversations and one unnecessary death.

Jack ran to the Doctor, kneeling down on the floor next to him. He reached to check the Doctor’s pulse. It was a steady four-beat rhythm, much to his relief. The Doctor’s eyelids fluttered. “Jack,” he said, his voice hoarse.

“Doctor!” Jack hadn’t expected the Time Lord to be conscious. “Did it work?”

The Doctor laughed, a short, soundless bark of laughter. “ _Lights_ , Jack.”

It took Jack a moment to figure out what he meant by that. Looking around, he finally realized that the TARDIS’ interior lights were on. Dimly, but on. “Ah,” he said, feeling slightly stupid. “Is it enough power to get us home?

“Don’t know,” the Doctor said, pulling himself up. He managed to get himself to sitting. He reeled a bit, though, and stopped to rest his head on his knees for a moment. “I need-” he said, lifting his head to talk to Jack. He stopped, suddenly, seeing the stains on his knees. “-a handkerchief, apparently,” he finished, prodding at the blood on his face. “And then sleep. Protein, sugars, tea, and then sleep.”

Jack produced a handkerchief. “Ancelyn, what do we have in the way of food?”

“We are without tea, I fear,” Ancelyn answered. “But we have meat and cheese and fruit. I will fetch them.”

Jack turned back to the Doctor, who was attempting to clean himself off. “Here, let me,” Jack said. He took the handkerchief, and began wiping blood out of the Time Lord’s ears and jaw line. “That’s about as good as it’s going to get,” he said, finally. “You could use a shower, and a change of clothes.”

“Good job we’ve got power on, then,” The Doctor said, in a weary tone of voice. “Oh, brilliant,” he continued, seeing Ancelyn return. “Food!” He rolled the vowel in his mouth. He ate ravenously, working his way through an entire summer sausage and a packet of dried plums. His eyes were already closing as he finished the last of it. Ancelyn provided a bed roll and a blanket, and he laid him down on the TARDIS floor, where he almost immediately started snoring gently.

Ancelyn looked up at him. “Wouldst care to go for a walk, and let him sleep?” he asked.

“Sounds good to me,” Jack said. They walked a short distance away, and sat down at the base of the tree. They sat in silence for a while, watching the horses graze. The moon, Jack noted, was full. Ancelyn seemed distant. It was different from Jack’s short experience of the man, but he didn’t press him about it. Ancelyn’d had a lot to absorb, just now.

“I would ask some questions, Jack,” Ancelyn said, finally. “Though I would not have you think me unseemly.”

“Go ahead and ask,” Jack said, encouragingly. “Worst case scenario, I’ll drug you and make you forget everything later.”

Ancelyn shot him a look that said _I’m not sure whether or not you were joking just now._ After a moment, he spoke again. “Why are you here, you and your Doctor?”

Jack smiled. “We crashed. We were traveling, and we just crashed. It was an accident.” He nodded in the direction of the TARDIS. “You saw what our ship looks like. If you’re wondering whether we came here with the intention of causing trouble in your royal family, the answer is no.” He cocked his head. “And besides, the confrontation between Arthur and Morgaine looked like it had been building for a while. It probably would have happened even without me to help it along.”

Ancelyn shook his head. “You speak truly about the king and the Lady Morgaine, of course,” he said. “But that is not what I meant. Who-” he paused. “ _What_ are you? Though your Doctor is not human, he is not one of the Fair Folk- is he angel, then? Or demon? I have never seen wizardry the like of what happened inside that... that ship.” The words spilled out of his mouth, as though he’d been holding his tongue for some time. “And though you appear human, you are no less strange than he. You were wounded near to death this morning! And now, on the evening of the same day, you favor that side not at all, though it should be weeks still before you are healed. And even if there were not the wound...” he paused. “I have seen men die in battle. A man does not bleed like I saw you bleed in the courtyard this afternoon, and simply stand up and walk away. So, I say again- who are you? What are you? And what intentions have you toward my king?” He said the last with a certain fierceness.

Jack regarded Ancelyn carefully. “I haven’t lied to you,” Jack said. “Liberally omitted certain details, perhaps. But I promise, the only intentions we have are to get the TARDIS up and running again, and get home.” He ran a hand through his hair, considering. “I saw that the guards at Camelot had laser pistols,” he said. “Do you carry one?”

Ancelyn frowned. “In my saddle bags,” he answered.

“Would you get it for me? It’ll help me answer your questions,” Jack said. This might be a bad idea, but since when had he ever let that stop him from doing something?

Ancelyn walked over to his horse, and retrieved his weapon. It was boxy, with a translucent rod extending out from the grip. It was no model Jack had ever seen, but the basic equipment was unmistakeable. “Are there stun settings?” he asked.

Ancelyn pointed. “If the dial is turned here,” he said, “it knocks a man out. Here, it will kill him.”

Smiling, Jack switched it to ‘kill’, lifted it to his temple, and pulled the trigger. He had just enough time to register a look of shock and surprise on Ancelyn’s face before the beam cooked his brain and he registered nothing else.

\---------------------------

There were _things_ , in the blackness, grabbing at him. As always. They pulled and scrabbled silently. Jack could feel their desire for him, to hold him and keep him forever. As always. And, as always, he was lifted up, pulled away by a golden light.

Jack gasped, air entering his lungs.

\---------------------------

Jack sat up. “Hello again,” he said.

Ancelyn, kneeling on the ground next to him, jumped back. “What is this?” he cried.

Jack brushed off his coat and stood up. “The answer to your question. You asked what I was.” He stretched his neck. “I’m the man who can never die.”

“How can this be so?” Ancelyn said, plaintively. “How can a man return from death itself?”

Jack shrugged. “I wish I knew,” he said, sympathetically. “I died once, and then I woke up. And now I always wake up. I’m still human, as far as I know. I’ve had lovers, even children. But I don’t age, and I always wake up.”

Ancelyn got to his feet, unsteadily. His eyes were wide, and he kept his distance. “And your Doctor? What is he?”

“He’s a Time Lord,” Jack answered, cheerfully. “And we’re from a completely different universe.”

“You are enjoying this,” Ancelyn said, accusingly.

“What’s the point of being ‘The man who can never die’ if I can’t use it for cheap party tricks?” Jack asked, and grinned.

Ancelyn stared at him. “You are mad,” he said. “The both of you.”

Jack schooled his features into a more serious expression. “Sorry,” he said. “And thank you, by the way. You’ve done nothing but help since you found us.”

“It is the duty of a knight, to help those in difficulty. We are tasked to defend the weak. Although,” he said, with a speculative look, “I think that you are not among their number.” Turning his face away, he stifled a yawn.

Jack suddenly realized that it had been hours since sunset. It must be incredibly late, by local time. “You should get some sleep,” he told Ancelyn.

“And you as well, Sir Jack,” Ancelyn said, seriously.

Jack shook his head. “I hardly ever sleep anymore, unless I’m injured. Perks of immortality.” He smiled, thinly. “You get some rest. I’ll keep watch.” He paused, meeting Ancelyn’s eyes. “I mean it, Ancelyn,” he said, finally. “Whatever we are, we mean no harm here.”

Ancelyn looked at Jack closely. His eyes flicked to the gun, and back to the TARDIS. “I believe you,” he said, quietly. “Though I fear I may come to regret it.”

\----------------------------------

The Doctor emerged from the TARDIS a few hours after dawn. He looked clean and shaved, and was wearing a new and un-ripped shirt.

“Jack,” he said, by way of greeting. He nodded, hands in his pockets.

“Doctor,” Jack answered amiably. “How is she?”

The Doctor stared off into space. “Better. I was able to find my clothes without needing a flashlight, anyway. So that’s better.” He didn’t sound entirely convinced. Abruptly, he looked back to Jack. “It’s time we had that talk I mentioned.”

Jack smiled. “The talk where you explain to me why you know Ancelyn, and how not to screw up the cross-dimensional timelines?”

“That would be the one, yes,” the Doctor said. “I’m not sure how much I should tell you. It might be better for you not to know.”

“How about we start with how you met Ancelyn?” Jack said, encouragingly. “And we can go from there.”

“He got blown into a brewery in Carbury,” the Doctor said, cheerfully. “Mordred had grenades, apparently.” He got a distant look in his eye.

“That sounds like Mordred,” Jack allowed. “We met yesterday. He stabbed me.”

“Did he?” He shook his head. “I met his mother Morgaine then as well- this was years back. I was traveling with a young lady called Ace-”

“Ace!” Jack interrupted. “I’ve met her, actually. Some years ago, in Paris. We stopped a Hoix together.” He grinned, wickedly. “She fills out a pair of leggings like nobody else.”

The Doctor made a face. “Oh, god, Jack! Don’t tell me that. Not about any of my traveling companions.” He looked vaguely ill, which Jack found very amusing. “But especially not about Ace.”

Jack raised an eyebrow. “Noted,” he said. “I just won’t mention that tight leather jacket of hers, then.”

“Jaack...” The Doctor glared at him.

“Fine, fine. Mordred, grenades, Ancelyn... he got blown into a brewery?”

The Doctor nodded, clearly . “The first thing he did when he saw me was call me ‘Merlin’. I thought he’d got me confused with someone else, but then he started going on about ‘the ship of time’.” He shrugged. “Morgaine was trying to... well, do various things, one of which was set off a nuclear bomb in the British countryside. We stopped her.”

“You’re _Merlin_?” Jack asked, incredulous.

“Well, not yet,” the Doctor said, a touch defensively. “There’s not much else I can tell you. Don’t trust Mordred or Morgaine, is the main thing.”

“I figured that one out on my own,” Jack said, with understatement. “Nothing else I should know?”

The Doctor looked off into the distance, frowning. For a long moment, he did not speak. “We’re going to be here for a while, Jack,” he said, at last. “Perhaps permanently. The TARDIS has power now, but not enough to repair itself, much less make the trip across the Void. It didn’t work like I’d hoped it would. And we won’t be able to try that trick twice; it would certainly kill me if I tried again any time soon.”

“I could try,” Jack offered. “It probably should have been me in the first place. If she needs life energy, I’ve got the motherlode.”

The Doctor shook his head. “You can’t,” he said. “You’re human. You’d absorb the Vortex; you couldn’t stop yourself.”

Jack raised an eyebrow. “It’s not like it could kill me.”

“It might.” The Doctor was serious. “I honestly have no idea. Rose did... _something_ to bring you back, and the TARDIS was involved. If you tap into that energy a second time, there’s no telling what could happen. It could well kill you. Or worse, you could become what Rose became. No one’s meant to have that kind of power, not ever.” The Doctor put his hands in his pockets, and stared at his shoes for a moment. “We’ll have to... settle down, or whatever that means here. Me be Merlin, you be... a knight, I suppose. I’m sorry.”

Jack laughed. “I’ve settled down before, remember? You’re the one who hasn’t stayed in one place longer than a few days since... when, UNIT days?”

“I spent six months in 1969 with Martha,” said the Doctor, defensively.

“Mmmm,” said Jack, smiling. “Six months, in close quarters with Martha Jones...”

“Jack,” the Doctor said, with a tinge of desperation.

“It’s not my fault you pick such gorgeous people to travel with,” Jack said, shrugging. “My point is, I’ll be fine. I always am.” Jack grinned at him. “ _You’re_ the one who’s going to go stir crazy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _End: Part One_
> 
> When I say “Part One”, it’s because I have conceived of the story in three parts. You’ve just finished the first one- Jack and the Doctor arrive in Camelot. In the second part, they make friends, keep enemies, and come desperately close to destroying something they care about.
> 
> Also, for the record, Jack of this story met Time's Vigilante NA's Ace; that's why her leather jacket was tight and not voluminous. The idea of Jack running into Ace in Paris and fighting monsters together makes me very happy.


	13. The Passage of Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part Two begins.

_Eighteen months later:_

Jack lay unmoving, his eyes closed. He listened carefully, hoping that the appearance of sleep might lure the intruder close enough that Jack could surprise him. For a moment, he thought that it was working. He heard the scuff of a boot against the floor near his bed. Carefully, he stilled his body against the surge of adrenaline. One more second, and the intruder would be close enough for Jack to strike.

In one more second, however, the bed went flying. Jack hit the floor face-first, and the bed landed on top of him. Reacting quickly, Jack pushed himself to the side, out from under the upturned bed. The other man was on him in a moment, one knee jabbing into his spine, and both arms up under Jack’s in an attempt to restrain him. Before his attacker was able to solidify the hold, though, Jack twisted free. He got to his feet and turned around. His attacker hooked a foot around Jack’s ankle, bringing him crashing to the floor. In a moment, he was on Jack again. He was as strong as Jack, or stronger, and Jack was finding it difficult to break free. Suddenly the other man twisted, locking his arms around Jack’s neck. Jack tried to get purchase to shake his attacker off, but he couldn’t reach. Long seconds ticked by, and everything went suddenly grey.

\-----------------------------

When Jack came to, he saw Ancelyn sitting on his now-righted bed. “Jack,” he said, in a tone of admonishment. “Tsk, tsk. Thou’rt still abed! The hour rises six now, and we have work to do!” He grinned smugly down at Jack, nudging him with a toe.

“Very funny,” Jack said, lifting his head. “Good move with the furniture, by the way.” Jack had been teaching Ancelyn unarmed fighting. The knights in general were surprisingly ill-trained at hand-to-hand combat, preferring to focus on sword and laser. Ancelyn had been interested in learning, though, when Jack offered. Unfortunately for Jack, he had also taken to amusing himself by surprise-attacking whenever he thought he could get away with it. “You’re improving,” Jack offered, as a compliment.

“It is good to know that you approve,” Ancelyn responded, cheerfully. “I might point out that it is, perhaps, you who have gotten slow-” He broke off with a look of exaggerated sympathy on his face. “-But I would not want to speak ill of my elders.” He held out a hand to help Jack up.

Jack took it, and stood up. With one swift move, he flipped Ancelyn around and forced him to kneeling. Ancelyn tried to break free, but Jack held him fast, his arms immobilized. “Who’s gotten slow?” he asked, grinning. “What was that you were saying?”

“I- ah- may have spoken out of turn,” Ancelyn gasped, as Jack forced his arms back. “I have heard that the cook has herring in,” he added hopefully. “If you would prefer breaking your fast to breaking my arms.”

Jack laughed, and released Ancelyn. “Give me a minute to dress,” he said. He had worn breeches and shirt to bed, as was the custom here. He changed his shirt now, and pulled on his tunic. He checked his belt to make sure his pouches and his knife were secure, and then he buckled it loose around his hips. Lastly, he pulled on his greatcoat. It was an anachronism, he supposed, but he liked that coat. The other knights had long since accepted it as one of Jack’s peculiar idiosyncrasies. “Let’s see about this herring you mentioned,” he said, checking himself over.

“Truly,” Ancelyn said, agreeably. “And then to the practice ring. My sword and I will do our best to alter this morning’s score in our favor.”

\------------------------------

There was indeed herring for breakfast, and bread, and hard cheese. Jack and Ancelyn sat at table with the rest of Arthur’s knights. The majority of the court generally had breakfast later, after a more leisurely waking time. Sometimes, visiting knights would eat with them as well, but there were none there now. The knights chatted boisterously with each other as they ate. There was an easy camaraderie here that Jack enjoyed. He’d almost forgotten the pleasure of being part of a team, instead of in charge of it. There had been some hostility towards him, initially. On Ancelyn’s advice (and, Jack suspected, out of a little bit of residual guilt over the incident with Mordred), Arthur had given him a position as one of his household knights. Many of the rest of the men had waited years to earn that honor, and there had been a little bit of grumbling at this foreigner being offered a place with them. After eighteen months, though, he was just a part of the brotherhood, another knight carrying the blue-and-crowns.

As they were finishing breakfast, a page ran up to Jack. “The Doctor would like to see you, sir,” he said, breathlessly, “in the king’s study.”

“Now?” Jack asked him. “Or is after practice soon enough?”

The boy considered. “I think he meant now, sir,” he said, his brow furrowed.

Jack shrugged. “Duty calls, gentlemen,” he said to the rest of the knights. “Have fun. I’ll have to wait to beat you all into submission until tomorrow.”

The nearest knight- a tall, wiry man named Dafydd- laughed. “You could not beat me were I blindfolded, Jack. We will manage quite well in your absence.”

“You wound me, Dafydd,” Jack said, hand over his heart. “And I’ll feel the pain of it the entire time you’re sweating out in the ring without me.”

\----------------------------------

“Mabonagrain, perhaps,” Jack heard Arthur say, as he approached the study. “Or Kadyriath?” It was a long-standing game. Arthur had been put out at the Doctor’s lack of a name. Since the Doctor had hinted that he _had_ a name, he just wasn’t telling anyone what it was, Arthur had decided to try to guess. The guessing had gone on for months, now.

“Nope,” the Doctor said, cheerfully, popping the ‘p’. “Not even close. You might as well give up.”

“Carwyn?” Jack offered, walking into the room. “Or, how about ‘Emrys’?”   
“Not funny,” the Doctor said, throwing a roll at him. They had evidently been eating breakfast. “Besides, you aren’t playing.”

“Oh, I like that one,” Arthur put in. “‘Emrys’- the immortal. Very mysterious sounding. Perhaps, Doctor, if I cannot guess your true name, I shall simply grant you one that seems appropriate.”

“Is it that difficult to just call me ‘Doctor’, like everyone else?” the Time Lord complained. He was scooping jam out of a little jar with his fingers, his feet up on the table.

“I suppose I could,” Arthur considered. “But then what would I do over breakfast?”

Jack coughed. “Is there a reason you wanted me here?” he asked.

The Doctor pulled his feet off the table with a _thump_. “Yes. Right. I need a hand with something in the lab,” he said.

“Is this like the last time you ‘needed a hand’?” Jack asked, skeptically. “Because if all you need is someone to hold a switch down, I’m sure one of the pages would be happy to help.”

“No!” The Doctor said, rolling his eyes. “I need help recalibrating the flux interociters. Two-man job, requires technical expertise.”

Jack perked up. “Are these for the generators?” he asked.

“They are,” the Doctor said, getting to his feet. “Let’s get on with it, if you don’t mind.”

The Doctor had not been idle for the last eighteen months. Come to think, Jack wasn’t sure this incarnation of the Doctor knew _how_ to be idle. Typically, a lack of idleness on the Doctor’s part meant the thwarting of alien invasions or the dethroning of tyrants. In the absence of invasions, it had actually taken the Doctor some time to decide whether Arthur was a tyrant worth dethroning. He, like Jack, had found the difference in access to technology between the upper and lower classes to be deeply offensive.

The Doctor had walked into the throne room and, in front of the entire court, accused Arthur of trying to keep his people in poverty on purpose. This had gone over... not well, given that they’d only been in Camelot a week at the time. Arthur had faced down the angry Time Lord without blinking. Resources were scarce, he had countered. Many of the generators and pieces of equipment in use in Camelot had been scavenged from an alien civilization, a hundred years ago. They had learned enough to reproduce some of the technologies, but they lacked the materials to do so on any large scale. The Doctor had been unimpressed. There were _some_ resources, he argued, and _something_ could be done. Just because the whole world could not be made over into one enormous Camelot did not mean that there was no point in bringing technology to the peasant classes at all.

In the end, Arthur’d had to concede the point, though it made his vassal kings deeply unhappy. As fitting punishment for having a good idea, Arthur had tasked the Doctor with making it happen. The Doctor had spent the last months coming up with cheap, durable tech devices that would provide basic electricity and sanitation for the masses. Jack could tell that the Doctor was bored out of his skull, but at least the project gave him something to do, and access to a lab. Most recently, he’d been working on power generators.

Jack and the Doctor climbed the stairs to the tower where his lab was housed. Jack wished for an elevator. It was an odd thing about this place: the technology level was very patchy. Weapons were well-developed, as was medicine- but many of the basic quality-of-life technologies were absent. It was a good thing he was in such excellent shape now, from all the training. Not that he’d ever really been out of shape, as such, but he had gotten a touch... squishy, behind the desk at Torchwood 3.

“Jack?” the Doctor interrupted, drily. “We have arrived. It’s customary to go through the door when you arrive somewhere. Call me conservative, which no-one ever does, come to think, but in this case, perhaps we’d best keep with tradition. Since the generators are inside, and all.”

Jack shook his head. “Sorry, Doctor,” he said, with a smile. “I was having fond memories of elevators.”

“Stop it,” the Doctor chided, ducking into his lab. It had been placed in the tower because that had been deemed the location least likely to set the rest of Camelot on fire, should it explode. Like his last lab had done.

“Not those sort of memories!” Jack protested, following. “Honestly, it’s like you think everything I say is dirty.”

\---------------------------------

They were in the lab most of the day. The Doctor had foisted off the bulk of the production grunt work of the generators onto him, and was tinkering with something Jack couldn’t quite identify instead. Jack didn’t really mind. It was nice to be indoors, nice to be working with his hands (and not his weapons), and nice to be working with the Doctor again. He didn’t see much of the Time Lord, most days.

He was doing the soldering on yet another lead when a voice startled him. “Can I give you a hand with that?” it asked. Jack jumped.

He turned to see Arthur standing there. “You almost made me burn my hand,” he said, smiling. He had heard that Arthur was often in the Doctor’s lab, though he’d never met the king here. “Do you actually know how to use a soldering iron, sire?” The _sire_ came automatically. Jack might not have started off as one of Arthur’s subjects, but when he’d become one of the Pendragon’s knights, he’d taken oaths of loyalty to him. Jack took oaths seriously.

Arthur rolled his eyes. “I _had_ been hoping to ruin the generators, and keep my subjects from _ever_ having electricity,” he said. Suddenly, he grinned. “Come to think, if we destroy them badly enough, perhaps Emrys over there will feel the need to intervene. He could do some actual work, instead of playing with his pet projects all day.” Arthur bobbed his head in the Doctor’s direction.

“That is not my name,” the Doctor said, not looking up. “And I keep telling you- ten prototypes, schematics, and then we train technicians to finish the rest of the production. And I’ve practically completed the job now; Jack’s just finishing the prototypes.” He picked up a bit of gadget, and peered at it closely. “And then it’s onto the next project.”

“I’m just trying the name on for size,” Arthur said, loftily. He looked slyly at Jack. “And it gets a rise out of him,” he whispered.

Jack laughed. “The leads need to be connected from here to here,” he said, pointing. “I’ll align, and you solder?”

Arthur reached for the control board Jack was working on. “Fair enough,” he said.

\-----------------

They were late for dinner. The meal couldn’t properly start without the king’s presence, of course, but the household was already gathered and waiting. Jack veered off as they entered the Great Hall, heading for the other knights. The Doctor, however, followed Arthur up to the high table. A collective sigh went up; the court were, no doubt, a bit annoyed about having been made to wait for their food.

“The prodigal returns!” a knight named Lioval called out to him as he reached the table and sat down. “I’d throw a roll at you, if I were not wasting away from hunger and a lack of rolls. Is it your fault that his Majesty was late?”

“I would not presume to reveal my lord’s private affairs,” Jack said, primly. He was promptly set upon by the knights to his left and right, who promised to pummel the cheekiness out of him. “Mercy!” he finally cried, laughing. “Mercy, and besides, dinner’s here.”

Dinner progressed, much as it always did. There were travelers staying at Camelot (as there nearly always were), and they were called upon to give their tales. After the tale-telling, there was music. After the music, people began to consider retiring. Sensing this, the king stood, signaling the official end to the meal. Those who wished to stay and continue making merry might do so, of course, but those who wished to make for their beds could go without giving offense. Many of the courtiers stood, and began filing out of the hall.

“To bed so soon?” A familiar voice rang out across the hall.

Every head in the hall turned toward the great entrance. In the doorway, stood a tall, handsome woman, flanked by a dark-haired knight.

Morgaine had returned to Camelot.


	14. Assignments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack gets a new assignment.

Jack had not been sure what to expect from Morgaine- some dire retribution, perhaps. What she did, however, was ignore him. The king’s family settled back into their old quarters, as if they had never left. Morgaine dined frequently with the king. She never so much as nodded at Jack, and if she ever spoke to Ancelyn, Jack was not aware of it. Mordred, too, did his best to pretend that Jack did not exist. This was surprisingly easy; the only times Jack saw Mordred were mealtimes, and occasionally in the practice yard.

Jack had assumed, when he had first arrived, that Mordred and Ancelyn were peers; this was not so. There was a great deal about the political structure of this world that had eluded him at first. The system of vassalage and oath-loyalty was somewhat arcane. In Camelot itself, for example, there were at least four kinds of knights. Jack was one of Arthur’s household knights; knights who had sworn loyalty to Arthur directly. Household knights protected the royal family, Camelot itself, and the roads surrounding the city. In general, the household knights were young, with no significant land holdings of their own, and were largely still unmarried. The only exception to this rule was the king’s foster brother, Kai, who served as Captain of Arthur’s knights.

The only others to take personal oaths to the king were Arthur’s dukes and vassal kings. These lords had their own vassals, who swore oath to them in turn. They were themselves knights, but Jack had yet to see any of them on the field; they each kept their own cadre of household knights to do their fighting for them. Because the dukes and vassal kings owed military service to Arthur, many of their knights spent much of the year in Camelot; Mordred technically fell under this category, being oath-sworn to his father, King Uriens.

In addition to the knights who were Arthur’s directly (Jack and his brother knights) and those who were his indirectly (the knights of his vassals, or his vassals’ vassals), there were also a few knights visiting from places not under Arthur’s control. Arthur did not hold sway above Hadrian’s Wall, and there were many lands here and there in Britain whose lords did not yet owe fealty to the Pendragon. There were also knights from far off lands visiting; from France or Spain, or occasionally, Thule (which was their name for any really distant place, as far as Jack could ascertain).

Morgaine, being a woman, didn’t fall directly into the system. She could, however, be considered to be a representative of her husband, King Uriens, who was a vassal king of the Pendragon. As such, she dramatically outranked Jack. It was debatable whether Mordred also outranked him; they were both knights oathsworn to kings. Jack’s king outranked Mordred’s, which would usually have meant that Jack had a higher position, but Mordred was also King Uriens’ heir, and Arthur’s nephew.

The Doctor, unsurprisingly, managed to stay outside the system of rank and status. The wizards (their word for technical experts; there didn’t seem to be many of them) were mostly ignored anyway when it came to these issues. They were valuable, _necessary_ , but they weren’t part of the nobility. They weren’t peasants, either. The social hierarchy didn’t seem to know what to do with them; half the time they got lumped in with the clergy, and the rest of the time, they were left alone to produce their miracles.

The whole thing made Jack’s head hurt.

In any case, if Morgaine and Mordred were inclined to ignore him, Jack was provisionally willing to return the favor. He had plenty of work to do, both with the Doctor, and as one of Arthur’s knights.

\-------------------------------

Jack was returning home from a patrol. He’d been gone much of the week, traveling through the nearby villages, and making sure that the roads stayed safe. There hadn’t been any trouble this time. He rode through the undercity, taking note of some of the changes. Cosmetically, there wasn’t much. The streets were a little cleaner, though, and he knew that the people were healthier. Sister Bethan was partly responsible for that; she’d been in charge of organizing the effort to send trained physicians outside the city. Still, the important thing was to make these changes in the countryside, too.

He reached the gatehouse, and presented his shield to the guard. “Back again so soon, Sir Jack?” the guard said, not seriously. He scanned the shield and cross-checked it against Jack’s picture from his database.

“I’ve already captured every brigand and robber within a week’s ride,” Jack answered, cheerfully. “They’d send me out farther, but they’re tired of me making all the other knights look bad.” It was mostly a joke. He’d run into robbers precisely once in all his patrols, and dealt with them handily. The roads around Camelot were so well patrolled that it was extremely unusual to find a thief bold or desperate enough to try it.

“Yes, well.” The guard tried for disapproving, but he was still smiling. “The Captain left a message for you,” he said, waving Jack on. “Said you were to see him when you got in.”

“Thanks,” Jack said, and rode on into the central city. It felt slightly strange to hear someone else referred to as ‘the Captain’. Also, he wondered what Kai wanted with him. He hoped it wasn’t more patrol duty; he’d been meant to have some time in Camelot now. The first shipment of generators was almost finished, and he’d intended to help with the distribution. He handed his horse over to the grooms, and slung his saddlebags over his back. It took him some time to get back to his chambers, unpack his bags, and get changed into a fresh shirt.

The captain of Arthur’s guard worked from a room in the outer keep. It was a windowless room, full of duty rosters and spare weapons, with men always in and out of it. Kai was responsible not only for the disposition of Arthur’s household knights, but also for the assignment of the guards and foot soldiers around the city. He spent almost all of his time there, making certain that everything ran smoothly.

“Jack,” Kai said, gruffly, as he entered. “It’s about time you got here.”

“Good to see you, too, Kai,” Jack said, amiably. Kai could be... difficult, but he was deeply loyal to Arthur. “Oh, hello, Ancelyn,” he added, noting that the blonde knight was perched on a stool to the side of the room.

“You’re late,” Kai grumbled.

“I came as soon as I got in,” Jack countered. “Which we both know was a few hours early. Why did you want to see me?”

Kai folded his arms, frowning. “I have an assignment for the two of you.”

Jack nodded, and took a seat on a stool near Ancelyn. Jack was surprised to see the him here. It was well known among the knights that Kai did not like Ancelyn, and rarely spoke to him save when it was necessary. The fact that he had also summoned Jack just compounded the strangeness. Kai was acting odd, and Jack was curious as to why.

Finally, Kai continued, his brow furrowed. “The king has been invited hawking,” he said. “By his sister, the lady Morgaine.” Jack perked up. “He will need escort. I want the two of you to provide that escort.” He finished, and nodded shortly, as though that explained everything.

Which, of course, it didn’t. It was true that when Arthur left the castle, he always rode with a contingent of household knights as his bodyguards, but there was no reason that it had to be Ancelyn and Jack. If he was getting involved in some kind of intrigue between Kai and Morgaine, Jack wanted to know exactly what it was about. He cleared his throat. “Can I just ask- why us? I mean, I like hawking as much as the next guy. I’m just wondering.”

Kai actually _squirmed_. Jack had hit a nerve, evidently. Kai paced the room, his hands clasped behind his back. Jack could almost see cogs turning in Kai’s head. “I do not trust her,” he said, finally. Suddenly, he strode to the door and slammed it shut. He wheeled around. “I do not trust the Lady Morgaine,” he repeated, frowning. “Sister or no, she does not have our king’s best interests at heart.”

Ancelyn spoke up now, a smile quirking up the corners of his mouth. “Ah,” he said. “And while you and I have never gotten along, she hates me even more than you do, Sir Kai. Therefore, you believe that I cannot possibly be under her influence.”

“And Jack had it out with Mordred,” Kai agreed, gruffly. “No love lost between Morgaine and him.”

“So,” Jack said, “just to be clear- you want us to protect the king from _Morgaine_?”

“Do you have a problem with that?” Kai snapped, defensively.

Jack shook his head, shrugging. “No. I don’t trust her anymore than you do. Lots of chances to kill someone on a hunting trip. Easy to make it look like an accident, too.”

Ancelyn nodded. “I, too, see the danger. Our lord is without an heir. Morgaine’s son would look well to succeed him were he to perish.” He ducked his head, and then looked up at Kai. “We have rarely agreed on anything, Kai. I know what you think of me. I swear to you, though: I would die ere I let my lord fall to treachery. I will protect him with my life, no matter the source of the peril.”

Kai looked mollified. “I have always been hard on you, Ancelyn,” he said, stiffly. “But I know that, whatever else you might be, you are a loyal man.” He looked up at Jack. “I don’t know what to make of you, t’be honest,” he said. “But you’ve never broken your word yet. Do you accept the assignment, Sir Jack?”

Solemnly, Jack laid his fist across his heart. “I do,” he said, simply. He dropped his hand to his side. “Don’t worry, Kai!” he said, smiling. “We’ll look out for him. It’s what we do.”

Kai snorted, and waved them away. “First light tomorrow,” he said. “I’ll update the duty roster.”

Ancelyn turned to Jack as they walked away. “Do you think that she means evil intent by this invitation?” he asked Jack.

“Who knows?” Jack shrugged. “I have it on good authority that she’s not to be trusted, though, even if I didn’t have my own personal reasons to think she’s up to no good.”

“We must be careful, then,” Ancelyn said. After a moment, he cocked his head, looking up at Jack. “It must be strange for an immortal, to walk among those of us with short lives. I swore to give my life for my lord, if I had to. You cannot make that promise, can you?”

Jack spoke carefully. “I believe you, when you say you’d die for him. I’ve been a soldier for a long time. I’ve seen men sacrifice themselves for each other, or for the cause, or for whatever seemed like the right thing to do at the time.” He stopped, looking away, into the distance. “Your life is precious,” he said. “Rarer than diamonds.” He turned and glanced back towards Ancelyn. “Mine just... _is_.”

Ancelyn regarded him thoughtfully. “I will see you upon the morrow, Sir Jack,” he said. “I think it will be a most interesting hunting trip.”


	15. Hunting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack accompanies the Doctor on a most memorable hunting trip.
> 
> I spent _hours_ reading about falconry in order to write this chapter. :D

The morning was frosty cool, and the early sun sparkled across the glass and steel of Camelot. Jack was glad to have his greatcoat as he rode out of the stables to join the party assembling at the gates. He had also chosen to wear the surcoat with the blue-and-crowns today. It would have been more usual for him to wear his own personal arms, but he and Ancelyn had decided that it would be better to wear the king’s colors instead. It wasn’t necessary for a private excursion like this, but they felt it sent a certain message.

As he rode up, Jack could see Ancelyn already waiting. There were also a few knights in the Orkney colors- purple, with a two-headed eagle in gold. They were presumably there to accompany Morgaine. Jack noted that they were wearing the colors of Morgaine’s family, and not the silver-and-ravens of her husband. There was no question that Morgaine was her own woman. It was also probably fortunate for her that her husband lived so far from Camelot.

Jack called a good morning to Ancelyn. “I think we’re outnumbered,” he observed, quietly.

“Two to one,” Ancelyn agreed. “Not counting the Lady Morgaine.”

“Oh, I always count her,” Jack said, cocking one eyebrow. “Just because she doesn’t swing a sword doesn’t make her any less a force to be reckoned with.” In his mind’s eye, he saw a great two-headed eagle with glittering green eyes. He shook his head. “We are still waiting on his majesty,” he noted.

“He will arrive when he arrives,” Ancelyn said, with a shrug. “Have you ever been hawking before?”

“Never.” Jack smiled. “I only know the principles. Fortunately, it’s mainly for our betters to enjoy, right?”

“Am I one of your betters?” a voice put in. Jack turned to see the Doctor, pulling up next to them. The Doctor was, as always, wearing his customary pin-striped suit, which looked a little daft on top of a horse.

“Doctor!” Jack said, declining to answer. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

“Morgaine invited me,” the Doctor said. “Hallo, Morgaine,” he called, waving to her.

“Doctor,” she said, and turned to face them. “How does the morning find you?”

“Oh, about the same as it ever does,” the Doctor answered. “Are you looking forward to the hunt?”

“My bird, more than I, I think.” She indicated the hawk on her gauntlet. It was hooded, and its talons dug into the thick leather. “She grows impatient.”

“Wild things do, when they’re shut up too long,” the Doctor commented. For a moment, there was a lean and hungry look in his eye. Jack did not have to wonder whether the Doctor felt himself also jessed, held captive to a single time and place.

“But they submit to us all the same,” Morgaine said, smiling. “They wait on our pleasure, to release them when we will and not sooner.”

“A good falconer knows that nothing can be kept from its own nature forever,” the Doctor answered. His voice turned almost wistful. “Sooner or later, all birds must fly.”

“And today, they will,” Morgaine said, with false cheer. “Has my brother seen fit to lend you a hawk?” she asked.

“He said something about that,” the Doctor said. “But I’ve never had much taste for hunting.”

“Ah, Doctor,” Morgaine said, with a curious edge to her voice. “As you say, nothing can be kept from its nature forever. And sooner or later, all hunters must have blood.”

“And what do you mean by that, Morgaine?” the Doctor asked, his head cocked.

She laughed briefly, shaking her head. “I am sorry, Doctor. I did not mean to spar with you so. I invited you here that we might know each other better. My brother has come to hold you dear, in the last months. And I know you not at all- save the glimpse of you I had when first we met. You have lived here for many months,” she added, “and yet, you are still stranger to us all.”

“Oh, I’m not so hard to get to know,” the Doctor said, disingenuously. “Not much _to_ know, really. What you see is what you get.”

Morgaine snorted. “I think not, Doctor,” she said sharply, one corner of her mouth quirking upward. “If you are an open book, then that book is written in Aramaic.”

It was far too apt a description. Jack burst out laughing. Morgaine turned toward him, eyeing him closely. “Sorry,” Jack managed to get out, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes. “Sorry, that’s just him all over. He’s an open book, written in High Gallifreyan, wandering around in a suit and pointing his sonic screwdriver at everything.” Jack dissolved into laughter again, imagining a Doctor-book in a pin-striped suit.

Morgaine began to laugh, and the Doctor finally joined in. When Arthur appeared, trailed by his entourage of falconers and pages, they were still laughing.

\--------------------------

The sun was still low in the sky as they made their way into the king’s forest. Arthur, Morgaine, and the Doctor rode in the front, and the retinue arranged themselves according to affiliation and rank behind them. On the one hand, Jack found the stratification of this society restrictive and annoying; he’d never liked being put in boxes. On the other hand, at least one always knew one’s place. At the moment, his place was riding directly behind Arthur, with Ancelyn at his right.

“Is that a new bird?” Arthur was asking Morgaine. “I don’t recall seeing it before. The markings are beautiful.”

“I began training her during our stay in Rheged,” Morgaine answered. “Uriens gifted her to me.”

“He has always had a good eye for birds,” Arthur commented. “How is Owain, by the way? I never asked. He must be of age to be squired now.” Owain was Mordred’s younger brother. He had never been to Camelot. It was widely suspected that this was because Uriens kept him deliberately away from his mother’s influence.

“I did not see him on our... visit,” Morgaine said, making it clear that she had not forgotten that her time at her husband’s estates had not been voluntary. Jack could almost hear her lips get thin and pinched. “My husband had already sent him to squire. But I have heard that he is well.”

“It pleases me to hear it,” Arthur said. “I look forward to seeing him at court, one day.”

“It is good to have family close,” Morgaine offered. “Don’t you agree, Doctor?”

“Oh, absolutely,” the Doctor answered. “Nothing better.”

Morgaine turned towards the Time Lord. “Sometimes, Doctor, I think that you are mocking me. I find it difficult to tell.”

“You should learn Aramaic,” the Doctor said, pointedly.

Morgaine laughed. “Have you much in the way of family? Brothers... a wife, perhaps, waiting for you to return to the far-off land whence you came?”

“No wife,” the Doctor said, emphatically. “I’m complete rubbish at marriage. And, no. My family are... gone. All of them.”

“How lonely,” Arthur said, sympathetically. “It is a hard thing, to be an orphan.”

“I suppose,” the Doctor said, shortly. Arthur knew what he was talking about; he had grown up as an orphan. He had been taken from his parents at birth and raised by Sir Ector, Kai’s father. The old king, Uther, had not died until Arthur was in his early teens, but the two never met. Ygraine, who was Arthur and Morgaine’s mother, had died of grief shortly after his birth. She went to her grave thinking her son dead. The story was a well-known tragedy in Camelot. It was spoken of often behind the king’s back, but never to his face.

They rode in silence for a time. Soon, they came to a large clear area. “Here will do, I think,” Arthur said, raising a hand. The party stopped. The hounds were brought forth, and the falconer carried out the hawks. They would each be kept hooded until it was their turn to fly; they could not be flown together lest one hawk attack the other, and both birds be injured.

Arthur pulled on a thick leather gauntlet, and called for his bird- a gyrfalcon named Grisandole. Arthur’s hawk was huge, larger than either of the other two birds there. Her feathers were a snowy white with dark brown markings in broken horizontal stripes across her wings, leading down to a brown so dark as to almost be black at the tips. She was a striking bird. To add to the effect, her hood was luxuriously expensive; rich red leather, with gold plume and accents. The bird was still, as the falconer transferred it to Arthur’s glove. With a deft, practiced hand, Arthur pulled the hood from Grisandole’s head. She fluffed her feathers, taking in her surroundings. Arthur walked to the edge of the clearing, holding her carefully. She settled herself a few times, and then leapt from his hand into the air, the bells on her legs jingling.

“She is a fine bird, sire,” the falconer said, to Arthur. “And a good hunter.” Grisandole flew high into the air, circling above the party.

“Send out the dog,” Arthur told his huntsman, nodding to the falconer. “Let us see what manner of prey it can raise for my Grisandole.” A short, brown, wiry dog was released into the clearing. It moved purposefully through the brush.

Everyone in the party watched the dog closely, waiting for it flush prey for the hawk. Jack watched the people, not the dog. There were a lot of people out on this intimate family excursion, Jack reflected. Arthur was incapable of traveling anywhere outside Camelot’s walls without a retinue- squires, pages, courtiers. Since this was a family trip, the courtiers had been left behind, but that still left Arthur, Morgaine, and the Doctor; Arthur’s two bodyguards (Jack and Ancelyn), Morgaine’s bodyguards and retinue (two knights, a maidservant, a huntsman and a squire), Arthur’s huntsman, Arthur’s falconer, three of Arthur’s squires, and two pages. Seventeen people, for a day trip for three people. It was lucky that the Doctor was not a proper nobleman; if he had been, it would have tacked on at least three more people to the list. It would be a miracle if every gamebird in the forest hadn’t vacated a mile-wide swath in front of them, quite frankly.

The crowd gasped collectively, and Jack glanced over to see a bird fly up into the air, away from the dog. The gyrfalcon, circling high above, began the chase. It dropped steeply. The other bird (a pheasant? Jack wasn’t sure from this distance, but it had brown feathers and a long tail) leapt into the air. Grisandole leveled just above the bird, and began to chase it. Arthur rode after the pair, trying to keep them in sight as they flew. The other bird flew quickly, twisting and dropping in the attempt to evade. In the end, though, the gyrfalcon was faster. She slammed into the gamebird, grabbing it in her talons and dropping to the ground. The crowd shouted with approval, and several people clapped. The Doctor, Jack noted, merely watched, saying nothing.

Arthur jumped off his horse, and went to where Grisandole sat on the ground, tearing gobbets of meat from the throat of the pheasant. He let her eat for a moment, before enticing her onto his hand with bits of raw meat. “Very well done!” Arthur said, smiling at his bird.

“Indeed, sire!” the falconer agreed. “What luck, to have her take her prey the first time!”

“She is a remarkable hunter,” Morgaine put in, smiling. “And that is a fine, fat pheasant to bring home to the cooks!”

Grisandole flew for perhaps another hour without killing anything else. Eventually, Arthur called the bird in and hooded her. He handed her back to the falconer, and declared that it was time for a midday meal. The pages brought out baskets of food, and they all dismounted and arranged themselves in groups according to rank and status. Sighing, Jack positioned himself in the correct place- next to Ancelyn, and a bit away from the royal party, but not so far that he couldn’t intervene in the event that someone decided to try stabbing the king with an eating dagger.

People began eating, and conversation sprung up. Jack kept his attention on the king and his guests. There was a long and awkward silence there, but finally, Morgaine spoke up. “How did you find your first experience of hawking?” she asked, turning to the Doctor. “Grisandole is an excellent bird; I have envied my brother her ownership for many years.”

“She’s beautiful,” the Doctor said, with frank honesty. “If you’re going to go hunting, I can see why you’d want to do it like this.”

“Well,” Arthur said, “hunting with bows is a great deal of work, and lasers half-cook the meat. The kitchen is forever grumbling at me over it.”

“Will your hawk fly again after lunch?” The Doctor asked, curiously.

“She is done flying for the day,” Arthur said. “She’s had her meal, and her exercise. Morgaine’s bird will fly once we’ve done eating.”

“Essylt is not so regal a bird as Grisandole,” Morgaine said, indicating her own falcon. “Nor so practiced at hunting. But she may do well for herself this afternoon.”

“I look forward to seeing her fly,” Arthur said. “I brought another falcon, Doctor- a Saker, if you wish to try.”

The Doctor, eating chicken, shook his head. “No, I’m happier watching.” He picked meat off the bones with his fingers, dropping bits into his mouth. With precise movements, he licked the grease from his fingertips.

Morgaine looked at him, curiously. “Why are you forever _licking_ things?” she blurted out.

The Doctor looked affronted. “I am not,” he said.

“You _are_ ,” Morgaine maintained, staunchly. “I have noticed it. And not just at table, either.”

“It is true,” Arthur put in. “I have seen you in the lab, tasting chemical solutions. I have often worried for your health.”

“The tongue is an excellent molecular analyzer,” the Doctor said, defensively. “Gives you all sorts of useful information. Definitely quicker and more accurate than any equipment you have here.”

“Also, he just likes it.” Jack spoke up, his eyes twinkling. The Doctor looked at him, and glared. “Oh, come on, Doctor!” he protested. “You can’t possibly expect me to stay out of a conversation about you licking things. I’m constitutionally incapable.”

“I suspect you have the right of it, Sir Jack,” Arthur said, suppressing a laugh. “It is true, though, Doctor- your sense of taste is remarkably acute,” Arthur allowed. “Another one of your curious abilities, I suppose?”

“I do wish you would tell us more about where you come from, Doctor,” Morgaine said. She glanced at Jack, briefly. “Sir Jack said that, if you were a book, you would be written in Gallifreyan. Is that the name of your homeland, then- Gallifrey?”

“There’s nothing to tell about Gallifrey,” the Doctor said, his face unreadable. “It was boring, and now it’s gone. Along with the chicken, apparently.” He raised his hands, showing them empty. “Is it time for more hawking?” he asked.

“If you like,” Arthur answered, smiling.

\------------------------------

After lunch, they rode on a little ways, until they reached a spot that Morgaine considered suitable. Finally unhooded, her hawk flew up into the trees. Being a smaller hawk than Arthur’s gyrfalcon, Essylt perched in the trees, watching the ground for any sign of prey. She flew from perch to perch as the dogs ran forward. Over the course of the next hour, Essylt attacked and missed several times.

“She flies well,” Arthur commented, generously. “She has the right instincts.”

Morgaine shrugged. “With more training, she may become a good hunter,” she said. “And she may yet make a kill this afternoon! I have not given up hope.”

Jack leaned slightly in Ancelyn’s direction. “I thought her ladyship might be in a temper,” he whispered, one eyebrow cocked. “But she’s being very patient.”

Ancelyn glanced over at Jack, and one corner of his mouth quirked up. “The Lady Morgaine has always had a deft hand with training beasts- whether they have wings or legs,” he murmured noiselessly.

A half hour later, they were still riding slowly after Essylt. Morgaine had the falcon practice with the lure a few times. She swung the furred lure around in a lazy arc, and Essylt folded her wings and dropped, pouncing on the lure with her talons. Essylt was one of the smaller falcons, as befitted a noblewoman like Morgaine; the larger birds were reserved for men. She was still quite a beautiful falcon, though- her wings and legs were predominately brown, but her belly and head were a pale color striped vertically with brown. It was eye-catching as she flew.

Essylt was perched on Morgaine’s glove after having stooped the lure, when a flock of birds took off across the field. Her head snapped around, and she took off immediately. She flew to a great height, and dove into the group of now-panicked pigeons. The smaller birds scattered, but Essylt trailed one of the birds, flying fast and low to the ground. The pigeon zigged and zagged, but with every moment, Essylt seemed to be getting closer. Jack suddenly realized that the pigeon, in its panic, was making straight for the group. The pigeon suddenly realized it as well, and pulled up; it was too late for it to change course entirely. Essylt pulled up higher, and made to drop on the bird from above.

The group waited, holding their breaths, watching to see whether Essylt would at last take down her prey. The falcon stooped, talons extended, dropping through the air with her wings folded. She missed, just barely, and the crowd sighed with dissapointment. The pigeon flew on. Essylt twisted, trying to catch back up to the other bird.

And then, from nowhere, a hand shot out, and the pigeon disappeared. Surprised, Essylt screeched. She dropped almost to the ground, and then pulled up, screaming, her prey nowhere in sight. She flew into the sky, and circled. Every human eye, however, was on the Doctor. He’d reached out, seemingly without even thinking about it, and snatched the bird out of the air. He was currently holding it close to him, and whispering to it. Whatever he was doing was keeping the pigeon calm, because it wasn’t struggling. There was a stunned silence, punctuated only by the sound of an angry falcon. Then, starting slowly, came the sound of laughter. Jack turned to see Arthur doubled over on his horse, laughing hysterically. The rest of the crowd began to laugh as well, since whatever the king thought was funny must be funny to his subjects as well.

After a few long moments, Arthur regained control of himself. “And so we discover that you are a better hunter than the falcon, Doctor!” he said, wiping tears from his eyes. “I should have guessed. You have much in common with our falcons.”

The Doctor looked up, and released the bird. It flew low and fast, making for the tree-line and safety. “There you go, now,” he told it. “Fly free.”

Arthur turned to Morgaine. “What manner of hawk shall we name him, sister? Is he a gyr? Or a peregrine?” The Doctor looked up at him, one eyebrow raised.

“A merlin, with his brown and his stripes,” Morgaine answered, slyly. “At least until we see him do the same with a gamecock as he did with a pigeon.” She made to call Essylt back to her hand.

“A merlin!” Arthur cried, laughing again. “I like that. It suits you, Doctor. You, like the merlin, seem small- but there is a hidden fierceness to you.” He smiled, mischievously. “And then there is the matter of the stripes. It is settled! Henceforth, we shall know you as The Doctor Merlin!”

The Doctor looked pained. “Must you?” he asked.

“Be grateful that I have not tacked on ‘Emrys’ to the end, Doctor,” Arthur said, with false pomposity.

The Doctor shook his head, and in a moment, his demeanor changed. “You finally guessed!” he said, cheerily. “That’s me- Merlin.”

Arthur laughed. “I do not believe you. I think that you have a true name still, hidden from us all. But we shall call truce on our little war. You shall be my ‘Merlin’, and I shall look no further.” He turned, taking in the company. “Perhaps we had best make for home now. The hour grows late, my dear friends, and we would not want to miss our dinners.”


	16. Blood Ties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur and Jack play the game of kings.

Jack was waiting for the Doctor as he left the stables. “So you’re Merlin,” he said.

“Told you I was,” the Doctor answered. “Didn’t know it’d happen quite like that, though. Perils of being a time traveller- sometimes you know the ending of the story, but not the middle.”

“I thought Merlin was supposed to put the sword in the stone,” Jack observed, grinning. “We’re a bit past that now.”

The Doctor made a scornful noise. “In our universe, maybe. No way of telling what Merlin’s going to do in this universe.”

Jack cocked an eyebrow. “Were you planning on growing a big white beard?”

“I’ve never had a beard,” the Doctor said thoughtfully, and then pulled a face. “I’d probably be utter rubbish at growing one. Still, I wouldn’t mind having an owl named Archimedes.” He looked aside thoughtfully. “It’s actually possible that I might already have an owl named Archimedes. If so, here’s hoping the TARDIS is still feeding it.”

“Well, just so long as you don’t get ridiculous with your newfound celebrity,” Jack said, drily.

“Jack,” said the Doctor, his face gone all serious, “Don’t forget that this is going to end badly. It’s beautiful today, but one day, it will all go wrong.”

“That’s the ending of the story?” Jack asked. “Most things end badly eventually, Doctor.”

The Doctor looked away, seemingly distracted. “This isn’t just eventually,” he said. He looked up, catching Jack’s eye. “Pay attention.”

Jack saluted. “Will do, the Doctor Merlin,” he said, failing to repress a smirk.

The Doctor looked exasperated. “Do _you_ have to call me that, too?” he asked.

Jack laughed. “If the big pointy hat fits, Doctor...”

\---------------------

When Jack and Ancelyn reported the events of the hunting trip to Kai (i.e., Morgaine had made no attempt at all on her brother’s life), he _harrumphed_ and was inclined to find this cause for more suspicion. He quite deliberately left Jack and Ancelyn on bodyguard duty, with the unspoken understanding that Morgaine must be watched. Arthur’s usual guards were sent off on long patrols. Bodyguard duty meant that Jack spent all his waking hours following the king around while he did whatever it was that he was inclined to do- in Arthur’s case, mainly holding court or meeting privately with various people. The days were long, and Jack spent most of them standing around looking imposing.

On the evening of the third day, Arthur retired to his chambers early, without guests. As he came to the door of his suite, he turned. “Will you accompany me inside?” he asked them.

Jack raised an eyebrow. He didn’t _think_ Arthur was being salacious. On the other hand, if it came down to being the filling of an Arthur-Ancelyn sandwich, he’d find a way to suffer through it. “Of course,” he said.

Arthur relaxed as he entered his private chambers and shut the door. Jack had never realized how much taut the young king usually was until he saw that tension go out of him. Arthur turned. “Would either of you care to play a game with me?” he asked, brightly.

Ancelyn looked pained. “Must I, my lord?”

“Ancelyn claims that strategy games feel too much like work,” Arthur explained, with a small smile.

“I’d be willing, sire, if you want,” Jack said. He tried _very hard_ to make it not sound like flirting. “What do you want to play?”

“Do you play backgammon, Sir Jack?” Arthur asked.

“Once or twice,” Jack admitted. “But it’s been years. You’ll have to remind me of the rules.”

“They’re very simple,” Arthur said. There was a backgammon set on a table. Arthur invited Jack to sit.

The set itself was, of course, beautifully made. The tables were some kind of rich, lacquered wood, inlaid with exquisitely-carved red and black stone for the points. Arthur pulled out two smaller boxes, which contained pieces and dice. He began to set the board. “Put your pieces mirror to mine,” he told Jack, and Jack followed. “You move your pieces in this direction, like so.” He indicated. “Move as the dice tell you- one space for a one, four for a four, and so on. If you roll doubles, however, you get four moves, and not two.”

“And if you leave a single piece on a space, something bad happens?” Jack said, the rules filtering in from the back recesses of his memory.

Arthur nodded. “I can hit your pieces and remove them from the board, should I roll the dice well.” He picked up his dice. “Roll a single die to start,” he said. “The winner will move first.”

They rolled, and it was Jack’s turn. He moved his pieces, not worrying too much about the strategy of the game. He would likely lose, but it didn’t matter. He picked up the dice, and Arthur rolled.

“It has been good to have you with me these last few days, Ancelyn,” Arthur said, his voice low and quiet. He moved his pieces with some deliberation. “I have seen so little of you in the last years. And you as well, Jack. My knights think highly of you, you know- as do the serving wenches.” There was a hint of amusement in Arthur’s eye.

“I aim to please,” Jack said. He rolled, and moved. “And you have very friendly wenches here,” he observed, with a straight face..

Arthur rolled. “Doubles!” he exclaimed. With some satisfaction, he moved his anchor-pair past Jack’s guards. “For some time, Kai has been keeping the both of you on patrol. I know that he does this on purpose- especially as regards you, Ancelyn. And so, I wonder, why is he suddenly putting you on guard duty?” His tone of voice was mild, but it brooked no refusal.

Jack glanced at Ancelyn, and rolled his dice. “He changed his mind,” Jack said, and moved.

“He is concerned,” Ancelyn put in, crossing his arms. He remained standing, looking down at Jack and Arthur.

“About what?” Arthur asked, picking up his dice. He looked up at Ancelyn, an eyebrow cocked. Ancelyn stood mutely, looking miserable.

“Your sister,” Jack said, finally, rolling the dice. He didn’t even look at the result. “He doesn’t trust her, and he thought we weren’t likely to trust her, either.”

Arthur frowned. “Kai oversteps,” he snapped.

“It is his duty to see to your safety,” Ancelyn said, defensively. “You have to admit, sire, that your sister has not always... looked to your best interests.”

“Ancelyn,” Arthur said, his face dark, “She is my _family._ ”

“I understand,” Jack, interrupted, quietly. Arthur looked at him sharply. “No, really, I do,” Jack met Arthur’s eyes. “My father was killed when I was young, in a raid. I thought my brother died, then, too. I found out, years later, that he survived. He was the only family I had left, and finding him again, it made me feel like- like I wasn’t so alone. So, I know how you must feel about Morgaine and her sons.”

Arthur nodded. “Friends are not the same as blood,” he said.

“But blood doesn’t make someone a friend, either.” Jack looked down. “Gray was my brother, and I wanted to be his family. I wanted to believe that we could love each other. But _he_ never wanted those things. He murdered two of my friends, before I learned that lesson.” Jack breathed. “Morgaine is not Gray. But you have to consider, Arthur, that no matter how much you love her, no matter how much you _need_ her, she still might not be worthy of your trust.” Jack looked up, catching Arthur’s eye. Arthur looked away.

“It’s your move,” Arthur snapped, finally. Jack looked down, moved his pieces. He left himself open. Arthur rolled. He moved the pieces angrily, hitting Jack’s open piece with unnecessary force and moving the token up to the center bar. Jack could see Arthur gathering himself. The young king didn’t look at either knight for a long time. They both waited silently for him to speak. “I have not been unaware of this,” Arthur said, at last, quietly. He did not make eye contact. “I banished the two of them for a year, after all. But she is not an evil woman!” He looked pleadingly at Jack. “She does care for me, I know it. We may have our differences, but I cannot believe she truly wishes me ill.”

“Kai worries,” Ancelyn said. “He may not be blood, but you are as much brother to him as he has ever had, and your safety matters to him. And he has not accused Morgaine, or done anything unseemly. He merely transferred us to your personal guard. You’ve said yourself that you wish he kept me out on patrol less.”

Arthur sighed. “True. By Kai’s standards, this is surprisingly subtle.” He shook his head, and laughed. “Have you ever heard the tale, Jack, of the time Kai caught some of the other boys from Sir Ector’s manor giving me and Ancelyn a beating?”

“Only because you’d teased them past endurance,” Ancelyn added, smiling. He pulled up a chair, sitting to the side of the table.

“Oh, ho!” Arthur said, grinning now. “It wasn’t me thought it would be funny to paint rude pictures on the backs of their jerkins as they were coming out of the wash. I was just appreciating your handiwork.”

“What did he do?” Jack asked, rolling his dice. He moved his piece back onto the board.

Arthur’s expression grew fond and distant. “Kicked them, literally _kicked_ them out into the courtyard. Yelling for everyone in the whole castle to hear that if anyone was going to beat that insufferable little wart, it was going to be him. Honestly, I think that even the village folk heard him.”

Ancelyn coughed. “And then he threw a barrel. Of salted fish. It smashed in the courtyard. I think that I never saw the steward so mad as when he saw that.”

“He nearly strangled us himself when he found out what we’d done, of course,” Arthur said, smiling. “But that’s Kai. If he’s upset, it’s going to be loud, and messy, and probably smell bad.”

Jack laughed. “That sounds like family to me,” he said, softly. “Sometimes you do get to choose your family,” he added. “Sometimes you have to.”

Arthur smiled. “There are times, Sir Jack, where you seem so much older than your years,” he said.

Jack chose not to answer that. “Were you going to finish beating me at backgammon?” he asked.

“I think I can oblige you,” Arthur answered, picking up his dice.

\--------------------------

It was strange, for Jack, living in the same space and time as the Doctor. He’d spent so long searching for the Doctor that seeing him every day over dinner was still, after a year and a half, disconcerting. He’d lived with the Doctor before, but that had been on the TARDIS, and things like ‘responsibility’ and ‘routine’ and ‘normal’ hadn’t applied. The Doctor _hated_ responsibility, and routine, and normal. Jack could tell that the Time Lord was miserable, even if the Doctor didn’t want to discuss it. Why he didn’t hop a spaceship (they had those here, now and again) and go looking for a way to fix his ship out in the stars, Jack didn’t know. Something to do with the timelines, perhaps, and the mysterious future that saw Mordred lobbing grenades at Ancelyn back in the other universe.

It was another few days before the generators were ready for distribution. Arthur insisted on coming along for the first shipment- partly, Jack suspected, just to get away from Camelot, but also partly because he knew that Jack wanted to go, and that Kai would be unlikely to release Jack from guard duty. Jack, for his part, wanted to go because it would be nice to see the endpoint of all the work he’d done manufacturing the generators, but mostly because the Doctor was going.

They rode out together, bantering meaninglessly (he managed to extract a ‘stop it’ from the Doctor), and Jack enjoyed himself. He’d long ago learned that, in his endless life, there was no point to living if he didn’t savor the moments. As moments went, this one was pretty nice- the weather was pleasant, and the air smelled like pine, and the Doctor (still looking daft on a horse in his suit) was riding beside him. Right then, in that moment, life was good.

As they stopped at each settlement, the Doctor got off his horse, and explained to the folk there what the generator was, and what they were going to do. One of the technicians brought the thing out and installed it, and Arthur stood in the back looking kingly. It was another pleasure to see the Doctor talking to the small folk. He seemed properly himself, for the first time in months- all “Oh, you’re all going to love this,” and “Just think! Lights after bedtime!” and big, toothy grins.

“You’re enjoying this,” Jack observed, smiling.

“Possibly,” said the Doctor. “Been cooped up too long, I expect. It’d turn anyone a bit mad. You don’t think I’ve gone mad, do you?”

“Gone?” Jack answered, as expected. “Doctor-” he started. He never got to finish. In the next moment, an arrow whistled out of the trees, and _thunked_ into the Time Lord.


	17. Combat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The larger politics of the region intrude themselves on our story.

The Doctor looked down incredulously at the dark blood blossoming on his brown suit. “An arrow?” he said. “Someone shot me with an _arrow_?”

For Jack, everything slowed down. He heard the _creak_ of bows being drawn. In the moments he had, he shoved the Doctor to the ground, covering the Time Lord’s body with his own. There was a sound like rushing wind, and a hail of arrows came out of the trees. Jack closed his eyes and kept his head down, hearing the screams of his companions and of the peasants running for cover. Arrows slammed into him. They mostly hit his armor and bounced off, but one hit him in the knee joint, driving deep into his leg. As he got to his feet, he reached down and pulled it out, ripping flesh and sinew as he did. It hurt, but he knew it was already healing. Jack turned, and drew his sword.

And then their attackers were on them. They came out of the trees, screaming, with their axes raised. Jack raised his sword to meet them. Behind him, he could hear the Doctor calling his name- “Jack-” he said, with warning in his voice. Jack knew what he meant by it.

“Little busy here,” Jack answered, his teeth gritted. “Get to cover!” But Jack still avoided fatal strikes. Jack didn’t have the Doctor’s same opinions about killing, but he still cared about the Time Lord’s opinion of him. The men he was fighting didn’t have the same compunctions about him, however. They were fierce, and relentless, and obviously well trained. They couldn’t kill Jack, of course, but he had no intention of letting them go to kill other, more fragile people. For a time, Jack was lost in a whirlwind of battle; steel clashing against steel, and blood and sweat flying. Men screamed around him; some in pain, and some in rage. Jack fought, using every ounce of skill he had to keep his attackers off him. Even so, his armor deflected several blows that would have incapacitated him.

And then, as quickly as it began, it was over. Jack smashed into his last opponent’s kneecap, and the man fell, snarling. Jack put him at point, and he finally surrendered. Jack took stock of the situation. There were bodies- wounded and unconscious and dead- all around. Some were now struggling to their feet. Jack didn’t see the Doctor. Suddenly, he realized that Arthur was down on the ground, and that Ancelyn was in his arms. Jack ran to them.

“Arthur? Ancelyn!” Jack cried, kneeling down. “Are you okay?” he asked Arthur.

The young king nodded. “I am uninjured. Ancelyn took an axe-blow meant for me.” He looked like he wanted to cry, but was stubbornly refusing to do so.

Jack looked down. There was blood all over the Ancelyn’s side, and Jack could see a deep furrow in the plate armor where an axe had bitten all the way through. He reached up to check Ancelyn’s vitals.

“I live,” Ancelyn whispered, hoarsely, as Jack’s fingers brushed his neck. “Really sire, you need not worry so. The sisters will heal me. You should see to the other knights, Jack.”

“Let’s check you out, first,” Jack told Ancelyn. “Unlatch his armor, sire,” he instructed. “Gently.” Together, they were able to remove the breast plate. It was a nasty wound- smashed ribs, and lots of blood. Ancelyn was in rough shape, but he didn’t seem like he was going to bleed to death or suffocate on his own blood any time in the immediate future. “Put pressure on the wound,” Jack told Arthur. “I’m going to find the other men. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

There were several of Arthur’s men nearby, and Jack sent them to guard the king. He began a headcount. Besides Jack and Ancelyn, there had been two other knights with them- Lioval and Urre, neither of which were in sight. The rest of the company had been footsoldiers. One of the soldiers was dead, not far from Arthur. Jack closed his eyes, wishing for a moment that he could recall the man’s name. As he ran into others, Jack sent them to bind the captives, and then regroup around the king.

He met Sir Urre a little ways into the village; he’d been cornered by four men and had to fight his way out. He was wounded, but walking. “If the king is already being guarded, then I will help you clear the village,” he said gruffly, in his thick Hungarian accent.

They finally found Sir Lioval face down in front of one of the cottages. He’d taken a blow to the neck. His eyes were glassy and staring, and the blue-and-crowns of his surcoat was soaked in blood. Jack sighed, and knelt down. He closed the other knight’s eyes and laid a kiss on his forehead. Jack had liked Lioval. He was one of the younger knights. He had greatly enjoyed playing the harp, and he had had a fondness for practical jokes and summer sausage- both separately and together. “Do you wish to carry him back, or shall I?” Jack asked Urre.

“I will take him,” Urre said. “Ah, Jack,” he said, sadly. “Why is it always the young ones who fall?”

“Old soldiers are too tough to die,” Jack said. He exhaled, long and slow. “I’ll finish checking the village. I still haven’t found the Doc- Merlin,” he corrected himself.

Urre nodded. “Watch your back,” he said. “There might still be more of these Saxon dogs hiding here,” he cautioned.

“I always do,” Jack said. Urre turned, and carried Lioval’s body away.

Jack didn’t find any of the villagers in their cottages, but at least he didn’t find their bodies, either. He hoped they’d found shelter somewhere.

Shelter presented itself as he’d almost finished searching. At the outskirts of the village, there was a church. It was stone, and easily the largest building in the entire village. As Jack got close, he realized that there were also three Saxons standing in front of the building, trying to smash in the door with their battleaxes. “Hey!” he called, drawing his sword. If the Saxons were trying to get inside, that probably meant there were people barring the door. “Anyone want to dance? All my other partners just kept falling down and bleeding.”

“We will destroy you, outlander!” one of them shouted. All three rushed him. It was touch and go for a while, but in the end, Jack was better armored, a better-trained fighter, and also incapable of dying. He tied them up, and then knocked on the splintered door with the pommel of his sword.

“It’s all over,” he called. “You can open the door.”

The door opened, and the Doctor poked his head out. “Jack!” he said. “Good. Come in.” Jack was relieved to see the Doctor. He hadn’t _really_ thought that he’d been bleeding to death in a ditch. But you never knew.

“Everyone okay here?” Jack asked, surveying the room. The room was full of people- villagers, obviously. They looked terrified, but no one looked like they were dying- with the possible exception of the Doctor.

The Time Lord leaned up against a pillar, positioning himself so that the bit of the arrow that was just poking out of his back wouldn’t be pressed against the stone. He didn’t look well. He was pale, and his skin had a clammy look about it. He’d had the sense not to try to pull the arrow out, of course, but even so, there was a lot of blood soaking into the brown fabric of his suit. “I got everyone in here when the fighting started,” he said, in a tired voice. “A few injuries, nothing serious. One of your knights covered our retreat- tall fellow, with brown hair and a cow-eyed look about him?”

“Lioval,” said Jack, automatically. “He didn’t make it.”

“Ah.” The Doctor sighed. “I was afraid of that.” The Doctor looked Jack up and down, and frowned.

Jack looked down at himself for the first time. His surcoat was spattered with gore, and his hands were covered in the stuff. He’d tried to disable and not kill, but that didn’t mean that his strikes had been bloodless- and his opponents had certainly done their level best to kill him. “Some of it’s mine,” Jack mentioned, answering the Doctor’s looks. “But yes, I could do with a shower. More to the point, though, Ancelyn’s pretty badly wounded. We need to get moving. You could use some medical attention yourself,” he added.

“I’ve had worse,” the Doctor said, dismissively.

“Don’t we all know it,” Jack said, cocking an eyebrow. “Still, an arrow can kill you as well as an atom bomb.”

They trooped back to the square, with Jack’s captives and some of the villagers in tow. The surviving soldiers were separating the dead from the living, and had gotten everyone who was still up together in a group around the king. Ancelyn looked worse.

“Merlin!” Arthur cried, seeing the Doctor. For a moment, he looked deeply upset at seeing the Doctor’s wound. Then he marshaled himself, summoning the teasing tone that he mainly used with his intimates. “You should be more careful. You seem to have run into something.”

“It ran into me,” the Doctor corrected. “Any idea why they attacked us?”

“They are Saxons,” Sir Urre put in, darkly. “Do they ever need a reason?”

“We can discuss it with our captives later,” Arthur said. “Our wounded need attention now.”

“Until we know more about why they attacked here, we should leave men to protect the villagers,” Jack said.

Arthur nodded. “Sir Urre- you and a few men will stay here for a few days. If this was a targeted attack at me, or at the village, I would know it. If it was part of a larger series of raids- well, we are all about to be very busy.” His face was grim. “And today’s losses will not be the last.”

\---------------------------------------

The arrow in the Doctor’s shoulder had hit bone, and could not be pushed clean through. Arrows were, Jack reflected, a primitive, ugly weapon to use on another thinking being. The shape of the arrowhead meant that, once in, it could not be pulled out without tearing great bloody chunks out of the person in question. In the end, this particular arrow had to be removed surgically. What was worse, it had to be done without anesthesia. None of the sisters’ drugs were compatible with the Doctor’s physiology. As the surgeon cut the arrow out, the Doctor lay on the bed, gripping the sides with white-knuckled hands. Jack waited, arms crossed, wishing there was anything he could do. The sister doing the surgery (Mairwen, he thought her name was) was working as fast as she could, but the cutting seemed to last an eternity. Jack almost wished that the Doctor was made of less stern stuff, so that there would be a chance of him passing out from the pain. The sister pulled pieces of arrowhead and shaft out of the wound, and her assistant carefully assembled them, like a puzzle.

“There is a chip missing from the arrowhead,” she said.

Sister Mairwen frowned. “I am very sorry for what I must do now, Merlin. This will hurt a great deal, I fear. But if I do not remove every piece, it will fester.”

“Do it,” the Doctor said, through gritted teeth. Nodding, she went in after the missing chip.

It was too much. The Doctor screamed. Somehow, though, even through the pain, he managed to hold his body still and rigid. Mairwen prodded and fished in the meat she’d made of his shoulder, and finally, at long last held up her prize- a bloody shard of poorly-forged iron.

“Right,” the Doctor said, looking up at it and then dropping his head back down. “That’s done, at least.”

“Bring the tissue regenerator, Gwynedd,” Mairwen said, and began delicately fitting the sides of the wound back together. This place was again a bizarre mix of advanced technology and medieval barbarism. They lacked any kind of medical scanning device that might have located the pieces of the arrowhead, but they did have tissue regenerators. When the wound was treated and bandaged, Jack helped the Doctor sit up, gingerly.

“I’m never doing that again,” the Doctor said. “I don’t recommend it, if you haven’t had the experience.”

“I think I managed to miss that particular pleasure by a few hundred years,” Jack said. “I can provide recommendations about all sorts of other ways you don’t want to get wounded, though, if you’d like.”

Ancelyn remained unconscious that day, and most of the day following. The Mother Abbess emerged from the surgery after several hours with the news that he would live, and probably make a full recovery- but that it would take time.


	18. Negotiation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur and the Doctor have a fundamental disagreement.

Kai kept Jack on duty as one of Arthur’s personal guards, but Ancelyn was off the duty roster until further notice. He was replaced by Gwion, a knight from Rydachen. Jack didn’t know him well, but he seemed nice enough.

The captives refused to speak with Arthur’s men when they were interrogated, save to give their names. Usually, when captives were taken in battle, their side would pay a ransom and the men would be returned to them. Arthur sent a delicately-worded message to the Saxon lord of Wessex asking if these were his men and would he like them back. Cerdic disavowed any knowledge of the men in question, but allowed that they might have been out raiding of their own accord. No one believed him, but without proof, his word could not be challenged. Arthur feared that he intended to send more raiders; that this was the first wave of what would become an invasion. On a more personal note, it also meant that the Saxon prisoners were officially not prisoners of war, but bandits. As Jack well knew, there was a single punishment for banditry here. It involved the gibbet- a gallows designed to both execute a prisoner and display the body afterward. Jack had seen such bodies scattered here and there across the king’s road. It was meant as a discouragement to other bandits.

Jack knew precisely when the Doctor heard about the scheduled executions; the Time Lord came storming into the throne room about thirty seconds later. “It’s barbaric!” he cried at Arthur. “You’re better than this. You’re meant to be building a kingdom of laws, where might does not make right, and you’re going to do this? Because more killing will make it all better, won’t it? It will wash all their crimes away in a river of blood!”

“Merlin,” said Arthur, mildly, “This _is_ the law. It has _always_ been the law, and they are patently guilty. I cannot have men like this preying on my villagers. It is harsh, yes, and ugly, but it protects my people.”

“Oh, and this will keep more Saxons from coming in, will it?” The Doctor was angry. He waved his hands wildly as he talked. “We both know that these men aren’t normal bandits. Several of them have Cerdic’s seal on their shields. If he sent them, he’ll send others. And they won’t be afraid of your gruesome little displays, because they’ll be following the orders of their lord. It’ll just make them that much more vengeful when they come again. Death begets death, Arthur!”

“What am I supposed to do?” Arthur said, trying not to lose his temper. “Cerdic knows that we will execute these men if he does not claim them, and he doesn’t care. If I let them live, I will look weak. He will know that he is free to send all the raiders he wants! I will not let my people pay the price of my own mercy.”

The Doctor’s eyes flashed, and his face went dark. It made Jack’s skin tingle. This Doctor, he of the spiky hair and the trainers, was much more capable at seeming harmless and inoffensive than his last incarnation. Nevertheless, when it was necessary, he possessed every bit as much presence as he had ever had.

“And it’s okay for those men to pay the price?” The Doctor snapped, his voice tense. “We have every reason to believe that they were following their lord’s orders when they attacked. Every life has value, Arthur! Every sentient being contains a universe of possibility. Killing is a pointless waste, if it can be avoided!”

“I have to look after my own people,” Arthur shouted, getting to his feet. “And yes, if these men must die to protect my people, then they must die!”

The Doctor cocked his head. He was silent for a moment, looking at Arthur. “So make them your people,” he said, finally.

“What?” cried Arthur, shaking his head. “What are you talking about?”

“Cerdic abandoned them,” the Doctor said, crossing his arms over his chest. “Offer them the chance to swear to you instead, and they might take it. Your forces will be stronger, and knowing that he’d have to face the men he betrayed might make Cerdic think twice about raiding again.”

Arthur stared at the Doctor, dumbfounded. “That’s-” he said, and stopped, blinking. He laughed. “It is a brilliant idea, Merlin,” he finished. He smiled, just slightly. “My men will hate it, of course. But they will learn. I wonder if the prisoners will take the offer.”

The Doctor smiled back. “I think you’ll find that most will,” he said. “No one wants to die. Especially not for someone who was willing to let them be executed for his own political convenience.”

\---------------------------------

After Arthur retired for the night, Jack made his way to the infirmary. When he arrived, Sister Bethan was sitting and talking with Ancelyn. Jack stood for a moment in the doorway, watching the two of them. Ancelyn looked pale and sickly, but he was smiling at something she’d said. The medical tools at her elbow said that Bethan had come in to take Ancelyn’s vitals, but they were long set aside. She was talking to him animatedly. As she finished, they both laughed together. There were times, Jack thought, that he felt very old, and very separate from the life of the human race.

He shook his head. He didn’t have any rooftops convenient at the moment, and he had better things to do than brood in any case. He knocked on the wall, announcing his presence. Bethan turned. “Sir Jack!” she said. “It is very late.”

“I hope you don’t mind,” he said, smiling charmingly. “I haven’t been able to see Ancelyn since he woke up from the surgery. Kai’s got me working late hours, guarding the king.”

“I am not fatigued now,” Ancelyn put in. “The boredom of illness is beginning to set in, and I am much pleased to see thee, Jack.”

Bethan smiled. “I will be about my business, then. You will see me again Ancelyn, and before you might wish it.”

“With you, fair Sister, that time can never come soon enough!” he declared, somewhat disingenuously.

“Oh, you are honey-tongued now, Sir Ancelyn,” she said, pertly, “but we shall see how you feel about me when I wake you in the small hours of the night to take your numbers.”

Jack sat down in the seat that Bethan had vacated. “I brought you something,” he said, leaning in and keeping his voice low. He reached under his tunic, and brought forth a cloth roll. He untied it, revealing a small cache of salted fish, fruit, and bread. “I thought you might want something other than the Mother Abbess’s gruel,” Jack said, grinning.

“Oh, Jack,” Ancelyn said. “Thou’rt truly an angel, taken human form. Is that herring? May God bless you, and all the pagan gods besides.” Jack passed him a bit of the fish.

Despite his proclamations of gratitude, though, Ancelyn barely nibbled at the food. Jack could tell that he was still extremely ill. Even the act of sitting up to eat seemed to wear him down. “How fares my lord Arthur?” Ancelyn asked after he had eaten, leaning back against his pillows. “He visited yesterday, but only briefly. He is busy, I know.”

Jack nodded. “This Saxon mess,” he said. “We’re all pretty sure by now that the raiders we fought were the men of Lord Cerdic of Wessex, but he won’t claim them as his own.”

Ancelyn shook his head, looking sad. “It is a terrible thing, to be disavowed by the lord who swore to care for you, and protect you. It does dishonor to us all. And the men suffer most of all, of course, who must pay with their lives.”

“Oh, you should have been there today,” Jack said. “The Doctor found out that the prisoners were going to be executed as bandits, and he arrived in proper form to argue the point with his Majesty.”

Ancelyn laughed, and then winced at the pain in his side. “Did he succeed?”

“Eventually,” Jack said, grinning. “He suggested to the king that he offer the prisoners the chance to swear loyalty to Camelot instead of hanging. The king liked the suggestion.”

“That was a canny idea,” Ancelyn commented. He leaned back against his bed again, cocking his head to one side. “Though, I think sometimes that your Doctor is very much an innocent, to be so frightened of killing.”

Jack didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at that idea. He ended up settling for a short, tortured half-laugh. “Oh,” he said to Ancelyn. “I thought that too, at first. But he’s no innocent.”

Ancelyn frowned. “Why, then, does it upset him so? A good man never glories in killing, of course, but it is sometimes necessary.”

Jack nodded. “I agree with you,” he said. “But the Doctor- he’s killed so many people, Ancelyn. More people than you’ve ever even _met_. He’s drunk that cup until it choked him, I think. He has seen so much death that any more hurts him, especially if it could be prevented.”

“I could not have believed it of him,” he said, horrified.

Jack shrugged. “He fought in a war,” he said. “I gather that he was good at it. His enemies tell legends about him, you know. They call him ‘the Destroyer of Worlds’.” He paused, a bit chagrined. “I probably shouldn’t be telling you this. He doesn’t take pride in what he had to do. And I’m the last person to be holding people to task for their pasts.”

“A soldier does what he must, for his lord,” Ancelyn allowed.“I find myself pleased that you and Merlin both are allied with my lord, and not another.”

“You should be,” Jack said, quite seriously. “I never want to be the Doctor’s enemy. I’ve seen what happens to them.” There was a pause, and then Jack shook his head, smiling. “Arthur’s a good king,” he said. “It’s an honor to serve him.”

Ancelyn smiled weakly. “He is,” he said. “He understands that being a lord is as much responsibility as it is privilege. He thinks of his people before himself.” Ancelyn looked thoughtful. “They say that that was his father’s downfall- that he cared too much for his own desires. And alas, Morgaine is Arthur’s payment for his father’s sins.”

“How so?” Jack asked.

“I will tell you the story if you like,” said the Mother Abbess coming into the room. “Ancelyn needs sleep if he is to heal. And do not think, Jack, that I have failed to notice you sneaking food in to my patient.” She sniffed.

“I fear she is right, Sir Jack,” Ancelyn agreed. “I am most tired now. Perhaps you can visit tomorrow?” His eyes were beginning to close.

“I’ll try,” Jack promised. “Sleep well.”

“Good,” Ancelyn said, smiling. His eyes were closed, now, and his voice was heavy with sleep. “God be with you, Jack.”

Jack took a step away, looking at Ancelyn for a moment. Then he turned, and left the room. The Mother Abbess came with him. “How is he?” Jack asked her. “Will he really recover?” He found himself more concerned than he thought he’d be. He’d thought, after Gray, and Owen, and Tosh, that he’d be done forming attachments to mortals for a while. Apparently, he’d been wrong.

“Given time, I have every hope of it,” she answered him. “Truly. But it is still early for him, and healing takes time. In a week, in a month, you will see much improvement.”

Jack smiled. “Good,” he said. I’m glad to hear it.”

“Did you wish to hear the tale that Ancelyn referred to, Sir Jack?” she asked, with a curious weight to her words. “I have heard that Sir Kai assigned you to guard the king, and just since Morgaine returned,” she paused, regarding him. “If you are to stand between the two of them, you should understand why things are as they are between Morgaine and Arthur.”

“Is there a place to sit down, where we won’t disturb Ancelyn?” Jack asked. He didn’t try to deny that standing between Morgaine and Arthur was his assigned task.

The Mother Abbess nodded and led him into her office. “It all began with Ygraine,” she said, sitting down. She indicated a bench for him.

“Arthur’s mother?” Jack asked, sitting down.

The nun nodded. “She was at that time married to Duke Gorlois,” she said. “Uther was consolidating his power, and Gorlois was one of the men he was trying to ally with. All seemed to be going well, until Gorlois came to Uther’s castle to finalize the terms of their alliance. Gorlois brought Ygraine with him, you see. From the moment Uther saw her, it was as though some demon of lust had possessed him. He and Gorlois fought. For a year, Uther sieged Cornwall. For a year, Cornwall resisted. Finally, Uther lured Gorlois out of his castle and murdered him.” She paused. “Arthur was conceived on that very night.”

“Where does Morgaine come into this?” Jack asked, trying not to think too hard about what had happened between Uther and Ygraine.

“Morgaine was very much her mother’s daughter. She was young then- just married to Uriens, and with a tiny baby boy of her own. When she found out what Uther had done to her father, she raged at Uther. When Ygraine died, and she found out what had happened to her mother- Uther, forcing himself on her, and then the baby- it was worse.” The Mother Abbess shook her head. When she spoke again, it was in a whisper. “Uther died in a massacre. The wine was poisoned, you see. The whole court died, and no one ever discovered who was responsible for the deed.”

Jack looked at her thoughtfully. “You talk about this like someone who was there,” he observed.

“I was Ygraine’s handmaiden,” the Mother Abbess said. “In another life.” She closed her mouth firmly, as if she might have said something else, but chose not to.

“And so you’re here,” Jack said. “Serving her son.”

“Even so,” she agreed. She looked down for a moment, her expression unreadable. Then she stood and held open the door, indicating that he should leave. “I have much work to do, Sir Jack,” she said gruffly. “And please, the next time you smuggle food in for Ancelyn, bring a little hard cheese instead. The salt in the fish is too much for him now.”

“Noted,” said Jack, smiling. “Good night.”


	19. War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack decides to go to war.

There were three weeks where everything was quiet. Jack assumed that the Doctor was healing well- the Time Lord seemed to favor his shoulder less and less, though he never talked about his injury. There was also a funeral mass for Sir Lioval. Jack and Urre spoke, offering kind words about their dead companion. They both knew that it was their way of exorcising the memory of Lioval’s bloody corpse, lying still and unseeing on the ground.

After two weeks, Ancelyn was sent back to his own chambers to rest, but not released to duty. Jack was afraid he might start climbing the walls. He begged Jack repeatedly to sneak his weapons in so that he could practice. Jack had seen the damage that the Saxon axe had done to him, though, and refused. Ancelyn was damn well going to have to wait until the sisters cleared him for heavy lifting.

Every one of the Saxon prisoners accepted Arthur’s offer. They still refused to discuss Cerdic’s plans, however. It was considered poor form to press them on it, since they were now servants of the realm. Arthur’s household knights were upset about serving next to the Saxons (not least because of Lioval), but their lord had ordered it, and Arthur’s knights were nothing if not loyal.

Three weeks passed quickly in an unending stream of guard duty, visits with Ancelyn, and working lunches taken at odd hours in the Doctor’s lab. After three weeks and two days, riders came to Camelot. Jack, in his now-customary position behind the king’s throne, knew that it meant trouble as soon as they entered the hall. The riders had an aura of fear around them.

“My lord,” the male rider- a guardsman- said, when prompted. His voice was shaky. “The village of Lanreath has been razed. Everyone there is dead- man, woman and child- save for this girl.” He indicated his companion.

Arthur stood. “Who?” he asked. His voice was deadly serious. “Who did this?”

“It was Saxons, your Majesty,” the young woman said, nervously. “With axes and those long beards. I hid in the root cellar, and watched them go by through the cracks. They had a yellow dragon-thing on their shields, most of them.”

“The golden wyvern of Wessex,” Arthur said, bitterly. “Thank you,” he told the riders, and dismissed them.

Arthur sent his own riders to confirm the story. When they returned, two days later, he called his generals together, and every vassal of any importance who was near Camelot. They argued and discussed for several days. After meeting with his generals, Arthur created patrols. He spread his knights out over the countryside to search for roving bands of Saxons.

The fighting was extremely sporadic, but fierce. The second time one of Arthur’s household knights came home wrapped in a shroud, Jack approached Arthur, at the end of his day.

“Sire?” Jack asked. “Could I speak with you before I go?”

Arthur laughed. “It must be serious, for you to be so formal with me. What is it, Jack?”

“I want you to release me to go out on patrol,” Jack said.

“Kai is the one directly responsible for your assignments,” Arthur observed.

“Kai wants me here, guarding you, and we both know why,” Jack said. “But he’d change my assignment anyway, if you ordered it.”

“And why do you want me to make that order?” Arthur asked. He folded his hands together, regarding Jack.

Jack grinned. “Because if you send me, I’ll come back. And if it’s me you send on the dangerous assignments, someone else gets to stay safe at home.”

Arthur smiled. “You’re very confident,” he said. “But brave. It commends you.”

“I do the best I can,” Jack said. “Will you do it?”

Arthur nodded. “It would dishonor your bravery to keep you here if you wish to go out into the field. I will speak to Kai.”

“Thanks,” Jack said. He turned to go.

Arthur sighed. “Jack?” he asked. “How fares Ancelyn? It is so rare that I am able to visit him.”

“The sisters are letting him do light weapons work, now,” Jack answered. “I think he was starting to go stir crazy.”

Arthur nodded. “When you see him next, give him my greetings.”

\-----------------------------

It took three more days and a certain amount of arguing, but Kai did assign Jack to a patrol. Jack was replaced as Arthur’s guard by a Gaulish knight named Sir Accolon.

Jack went to visit Ancelyn before he left. Now, a bit more than five weeks after his injury, Ancelyn was being allowed to roam the castle as much as he felt able, and do some light exercise. He was still unable to hold a sword, or walk any great distance.

“I envy you,” Ancelyn said, wistfully, when Jack told him that he was leaving.

Jack laughed. “You didn’t get enough of the Saxons the last time you met them?” he said, indicating Ancelyn’s wounded side.

Ancelyn sighed. “They had the best of me, that time,” he admitted. “But I would show them different, had I the chance.”

“I’m sure you would,” Jack said, smiling. “Given that you were healed enough to lift your weapons.”

Ancelyn looked stricken. He held his hand over his heart melodramatically. “Ah, well,” he said. “Since I cannot, I will be reduced to staying here, and being fawned over by the maidens of the court like the wounded hero I am. I shall try to persevere.”

“I’m sure you will,” said Jack, laughing. “Just make sure they’re gentle with you.”

\------------------

The last person Jack went to see was the Doctor. He debated about whether he should. The Doctor must know that he was leaving, and had chosen not to say anything. He sighed. Here he was, chasing after the Doctor again.

The Doctor was in his lab, as Jack had known he would be. The project with the generators had been put on hiatus until reports of attacked and destroyed villages stopped coming in with such alarming regularity. Nevertheless, the Doctor was hard at work when Jack arrived, tinkering with some piece of machinery that was only vaguely recognizable. He didn’t look up when Jack arrived in the open door. After a moment, Jack knocked on the door frame. The Time Lord’s head shot up, and he pulled off the goggles he’d been wearing. “Hello, Jack!” he said, grinning. “Just the man I wanted to see. Come over here, and hold this wrench for me.”

“That’s what they all say,” Jack said, sighing dramatically. He came over and did as he was bidden. “Wait,” he said, looking over the machine more carefully. “Is this a warp corridor?” He squinted at it. “No. It’s a _sub-nucleonic_ warp corridor.”

“Clever lad,” the Doctor drawled, smiling.

“What exactly were you planning to do with a sub-nucleonic warp corridor?” Jack asked, trying not to think too hard about the possibilities. Warp corridors could transport massively large quantities of material at once. They were- like most technologies ill-suited for use in sex- mainly used as weapons.

“I don’t know exactly,” the Doctor said. “I suppose we’ll find out when the time comes, won’t we?”

“Exciting,” Jack commented. He knew that the Doctor was working on some sort of plan, but he evidently didn’t care to share it with Jack. The Doctor finished his adjustment, and Jack let go of the wrench. “I came to say goodbye, actually. For a while. Arthur’s sending me out on patrol.”

“Is he?” the Doctor said, fiddling with another piece of his machine. He yanked a part out of the assemblage and tossed it over his shoulder. He frowned, and ripped out a clump of wires as well. “You’re getting involved with the fighting?”

“It looks like it,” Jack said. “It seems like the appropriate thing to do.”

The Doctor just frowned deeper, and buzzed the sonic at the warp corridor.

Jack sighed. “You don’t like me picking up a sword to go kill Saxons.”

“Didn’t say that,” the Doctor muttered, eyes firmly fixed on a pair of solenoids at the bottom of the device.

“Didn’t have to,” Jack said. He paused, looking at the Doctor. “Why do you care about what I do?” he asked. “You don’t react like this to Arthur, or Ancelyn.”

“That’s different,” the Doctor said, finally putting his tools down. “They’re not-” he broke off, and shoved the sonic back in his coat.

“Not what?” Jack asked, with just a touch of pique. “Immortal? Time travelers?”

“You traveled with me,” the Doctor said. “They didn’t.”

Jack shook his head. “I’ve been a soldier before, you know. I’ve killed, when I had to. This time, I’ll be killing to protect the children in those villages. I think it’s worth it.”

The Doctor turned, and began stacking things on a shelf. “I’ve always tried to find another way,” he said, in an even voice.

“We’re not all you,” Jack said. “God knows we’ve tried to be. Some of us have died trying.” He paused, reflectively. “I did.”

There was a long, tense silence. The Doctor did not turn to face him. “Goodbye, Doctor,” Jack said, finally. “I’ll see you when I get back.”

The Doctor half-turned. “I’d wish you luck, Jack- except, you being you, you don’t need it.”

\--------------------------------

Jack left Camelot in a company of a dozen knights. They were under the command of Sir Ector, Kai’s father. Jack had never met him before, and was highly amused by him. He was like an older, more overweight Kai who had finally learned to loosen up. Also, he had an enormous mustache. Jack suspected that the mustache would be an asset in battle- the Saxons would be so distracted by staring at the thing that he would be able to defeat them easily.

The knights rode out at dawn, trailed by squires and extra horses. Jack himself had chosen a squire (a boy named Gerrain) when he entered Arthur’s service. It was necessary; being immortal had not granted Jack the ability to put on plate armor by himself. The squires were trained to fight, but did not go armed until they were almost old enough to win their spurs. They were expected to stay back and away from any fighting. It was taboo to attack other peoples’ squires in battle, but that didn’t mean it didn’t happen.

On the third night out from Camelot, they had their first encounter with the raiders. They practically stumbled upon the raiders’ encampment just as dusk was fading into night. There was a moment when neither knights nor Saxons seemed to know what to do about it, and then Ector ordered his men to attack. The Saxons- ill-armed and caught flat-footed- were easily routed. Jack felt a little bad about fighting men while they were leaping up from their bedrolls, but not bad enough to leave them free to burn the nearby village. Even so, he still avoided killing strikes where he could.

In the following weeks, they ran into raiders twice more. Gerrain spent a lot of time mending chain mail, after. Each time the knights encountered them, the Saxons were defeated. Jack came to the conclusion that the Saxons were clearly outclassed. They lacked access to any of the higher technology that Arthur’s knights possessed. If the Saxons ever had lasers, it was because they’d killed a knight and taken them. Even then, the Saxons had no way of recharging the weapons; they usually discarded or destroyed them after they used up whatever charge the weapon had. Even their armor was less advanced. Where the knights of Camelot wore plate and chain (which, interestingly enough, had the side effect of spreading and grounding laser fire), the Saxons were mainly wearing boiled leather, with only the richer and stronger warriors wearing scale or chain. The final straw was that the knights of Camelot were accustomed to fighting from horseback, with all the advantages that this afforded them. As often as not, the Saxons went afoot.

Despite their disadvantages, though, the Saxons pressed on. The only reason that they weren’t driven back immediately was that there were so many of them, and that they were- even lacking decent arms and armor- fierce and fearless warriors. Besides, it was impossible for the knights to be everywhere at once. Arthur’s territory was still being nibbled away by the Saxon incursion. And, as Jack learned when they stopped in Salisbury and were able to get news from other patrols, the Saxons were getting smarter, too. They were trying all sorts of new tricks- drawing laser fire with dummies, and even laying traps for the knights’ horses.

Even after close to two years in Camelot, the horses and armor and weapons were still a little strange for Jack. It was sometimes hard for him not to laugh at himself a little- here he was, your stereotypical knight in shining armor, riding around the countryside, righting wrongs and defending the weak.

Most of the time, though, it didn’t seem all that laughable. This was war, and Jack knew war. The trappings were a little different, but the concept was eternally the same.


	20. A Walk in the Woods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack goes on a scouting mission, and meets new people.

After they left Salisbury, Jack’s patrol wound their way around to Levcomagus and then Silchester, visiting the villages in between. After Silchester, they turned southwest, preparing to spiral around in a wide arc toward Camelot and some home leave. Jack looked forward to seeing the Doctor, and Ancelyn, and Bethan, and Arthur, and even- perhaps- Morgaine. He might not trust her, but at least she was interesting. After the hawking trip, she seemed to have made some sort of peace with Jack and the Doctor. Jack had even seen Morgaine playing chess with the Doctor, in the weeks after the start of the Saxon incursion.

Or, as it was more appropriate to think of it, “the most recent Saxon incursion”. There had been conflict between the Saxons and the Britons for decades. Originally, they came in boats as raiders. In recent years, though, they had been inclined to settle in Britain. They had of late also become more organized and unified under Cerdic, and another Saxon lord named Aelle, who held territory in the south of England. The Saxons had been beaten back in Uther’s time, but they were gathering strength again.

When they reached a village named Stanton, they were told that some of the men had seen strangers tramping about in the woods. Ector decided that he should send out pairs of knights to scout. Jack was picked, as he always was. Scouting was dangerous, and Sir Ector had not failed to notice Jack’s unusual ability to walk away from difficult situations unscathed, even if he did not understand the full extent of Jack’s gifts.

Ector paired Jack with another one of Arthur’s household knights- Sir Dafydd- and bade them both farewell for the next couple of days; or until they found evidence of a Saxon presence, whichever came first. Jack wasn’t looking forward to it. He and Dafydd were not friends. They weren’t enemies, but they did not seek each other out. Dafydd considered Jack frivolous, and Jack considered him to have a largish pole up his ass- and not in the fun way, either. They generally avoided talking to each other, and now was no exception.

Unfortunately, riding along in silence began to be awkward. There was only so long that anyone could pretend to be deeply absorbed in examining trampled grass that obviously had nothing to do with errant Northmen.

“At least the weather is fine,” Dafydd said, finally. “It begins to be warmer.”

“I’ve been enjoying that,” Jack agreed. “Spring is nice here. Pretty.”

With that, they lapsed into silence again. They were riding to the side of the road; the Saxons tended to avoid traveling on the roads themselves except at river crossings and the like. Jack and Dafydd had their best chance to pick up a trail if they kept a little away from the road, but still close enough to use it for navigation.

Jack rolled his eyes. “We’re going to be out here for a while,” he pointed out to the other knight. “It’ll go faster if we talk to each other. Why don’t you... I don’t know, tell me about your family, or something?” Family was important here; it was common for people to exchange lineages upon meeting each other.

“My family?” Dafydd asked, stiffly.

“Sure,” Jack said. “Siblings? Parents?”

“I have a younger sister,” Dafydd said, uncomfortably. “She is fostered far from here, though, and I have not seen her since we were children. My father was Sir Daven, who was seneschal to Earl Roderick of Salisbury- Earl Robert’s father. My father passed away when I was a boy, and my mother went to France and remarried. I have heard that I have two brothers there.”

“Ah,” Jack said. He clearly hadn’t thought this through- having initiated the genealogical discussion, he was now socially required to give his own family information in return. “My family are... complicated,” he said. “And far away from here.” His father’s occupation would be meaningless to Dafydd, as would any of his family’s names.

"Informative," Dafydd remarked, drily.

Jack laughed. "Well, we've done weather and family- now, how's about that local sports team?"

Dafydd looked confused. "I do not follow you, Sir Jack," he said, solemnly.

"Never mind," Jack said, shaking his head. "What about religion? Or politics? Everyone's got something to say about those." He grinned.

Dafydd opened his mouth to formulate a reply, but he was cut short. As they rounded a bend, they could clearly hear the sounds of steel clanging against steel. "Saxons," Dafydd hissed. He drew his sword, spurring his horse forward. Jack drew his laser pistol, and followed.

They raced alongside the road, passing trees and hedge in a blur. When they reached the source of the noise, though, there were no Saxons in sight. A single knight stood in the road, fighting three attackers. Behind him, a pretty young blonde woman was cowering against a tree, crying. Though the attackers were armed and armored like knights, they bore no crest on their shields.

"Brigands!" Dafydd cried. He charged up, slashing his sword viciously down at the attackers. Dafydd was one of the better swordsmen in Arthur's company. If one could ignore the bloody nature of his craft, it was a pleasure to watch him fight. Jack, however, had better things to do than sit and watch. Raising his laser pistol, he aimed carefully and fired. One of the attackers crumpled, screaming and clutching at his knee.

That was enough. Now that it was a fair fight, the attackers were easily routed. Dafydd killed one, and the last one standing bolted for a nearby horse. He pulled his wounded companion up, and they rode off at full speed. Jack made to intercept them, but the strange knight called out, "Let them go! There is no need to question them; I will see them again soon enough."

With that, he collapsed onto the ground. Jack leaped down from his horse. The girl was already there by the time he got to him. Without speaking, they worked together to get his armor off. The knight's bleeding was bad, and Jack was fairly certain that he had a few broken ribs.

"How fares he, lady?" Dafydd said, sounding concerned. He got down from his horse and surveyed the situation.

"He fares well," the girl said, taking stock of the wounded knight’s injuries, "But, I fear, not well enough. There is no hope."

Jack frowned. "What do you mean?" he asked. He looked again at the man’s wounds. "It's ugly, but he's not dying."

"She means," the knight said, rasping and hoarse, "that those thugs have done their job. That I still have my life matters nothing; I can no longer fight."

“I am sorry, good knights,” the lady interjected. She began carefully cutting away the knight’s bloody clothing. “We have not introduced ourselves; you do not know our story. This is Sir Lamaunt, who is the rightful lord of this land.”

“And you?” Jack asked her.

She smiled, just a little. “I am Elowen,” she said. She took out a flask of water and began flushing Lamaunt’s wound. She looked down at him. “I will clean and bind it, my lord. It may be that you will be able to stand at least.”

He laughed, joylessly. “At least I may retain my honor, then, if not my land.”

Elowen turned back to Jack and Dafydd. She was very pretty- blonde hair, blue eyes, and a pleasant softness to her features. "It begins wtih my lord's brother," she started.

Lamaunt interrupted her. "I should tell the tale," he said. "It concerns my family, after all."

"You are wounded, my lord!" she protested.

"Then I shall do my best to speak briefly," Lamaunt said. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. "I am the oldest son of my father," he said, finally. "But, when my father died, I was away. I returned as soon as I heard, but my brother had already taken control of our father's estates. He claimed that our father had disinherited me in my absence. Somehow, he had gained the support of my father's soldiers, and there was nothing to do. I retired to my own lands- those few manors that were mine personally."

He stopped momentarily, as Elowen bandaged his ribs. "I would have let it lie," he continued, breathing shallowly. "I love these lands too much to inflict a war on them, brother against brother, and my people caught in between. If my brother were fit to be lord here, I would cede my place forever. But he is an evil and selfish man. He works my people near to death, and spends money like water. Since he has spent everything in his coffers, he has now taken to kidnapping knights and extorting their lords for ransom. I could bear it no longer, and I challenged him personally for control of our county. He agreed, on the condition that I travel to his manor house for the fight. It seems now that he did not care to risk a fair fight with me. Those were his men."

Elowen finished her work, and began cleaning her hands. "That is all I can do for you, my lord. You should not travel now. We could take shelter in the village down the road," she said, and it sounded like pleading.

"I still have my pride, lady. If I can ride, I will ride to Morhault and face my brother myself." He began to pull himself up off the ground, feeling his chest gingerly.

"But, my lord!" she cried. "It is a challenge to the death! You will be slaughtered!" She looked to Jack and Dafydd, as though begging their help in reasoning with her wounded lord.

Dafydd spoke up. "it is a terrible tale," he said. "I see only one solution- we must escort you to Morhault. You might be unable to fight, but one may always name a champion. Given your current state, none could speak ill of you for doing so.”

Lamaunt shook his head. "As the lady has said, the challenge is to the death. I cannot ask another man to risk himself for me in that way."

Dafydd opened his mouth to speak. Jack quickly jumped in. "I'll be your champion," he said, before the other knight could volunteer. He had no intention of letting someone else sign up to die in battle. Dafydd looked annoyed, but Jack found himself eminently able to not care.

"Sir Jack," Lamaunt said, overcome with emotion. "It would mean everything were you able to stand in my place. Are you certain? It is a terrible thing I must ask of you."

Jack nodded solemnly. "I'd be happy to help," he said. Ector would be annoyed that they were gone so long, but he'd get over it. Arthur's knights were supposed to travel around and help people; it was part of the point of them.

Elowen smiled broadly, tears glistening in her eyes. "Oh, good knights," she said, "We will never be able to be grateful enough for your help in this matter."

They agreed that with half the day already gone, they should let Lamaunt rest, and start off in the morning. Elowen started gathering wood for a fire. When she announced her intention to go get water, Jack offered to go with her to help carry. They walked together down to a nearby stream, water skins in hand. She waded partway out into the stream to get the cleaner water. Jack, standing on the bank, discreetly enjoyed the way her damp shift clung to her milky skin.

"Jack is a strange name for a knight," she said, handing him a full water skin.

"I suppose so," Jack answered, amiably. "I haven't met any other knights named that. I like to think it makes me unique."

She laughed, and brushed her hair out of her face. She mainly succeeded in getting her hair wet. Some of the water-darkened strands plastered themselves to her face. It made her look pleasantly bedraggled. "You are a strange man altogether, Sir Jack. I pray for both our sakes that you are as clever with your blade as with your tongue."

“Flattery,” he said, smiling.

“Hope,” she corrected, her eyes serious. Then she looked away, almost shyly. She filled the last of the water skins and gave them to him without comment.

“All done?” He asked. He held a hand out to help her across the slimy rocks at the water’s edge.

She smiled, and took his offered hand. She stepped carefully, but her foot slipped. Jack caught her before she could fall into the creek. “Thank you!” she said, sheepishly. “I am not usually so clumsy.”

He pulled her to her feet, and made sure that she was steady before he released her. “Easy to slip on those rocks,” he observed, charitably.

She stood for a moment, almost touching him, and then leaned down and began wringing water out of her gown. “You are a kind man, to help my lord so,” she said.

“I am a household knight to the king,” he pointed out. “We’re supposed to help people. It’s in the job description.”

She laughed again. “You speak so strangely!” she said. She frowned. “You should know, Sir Jack, that Count Brion will not face you himself. If you were to fight Brion himself, I would not worry. It is well-known that he never trains with the sword, and that he is as weak and useless in battle as any woman- hardly a knight at all.”

“He’ll call a champion himself?” Jack asked. Not that it made a difference.

Elowen nodded. “My lord Lamaunt would never have asked any other man to risk himself on my lord’s behalf, but Count Brion will certainly have found someone. Have care, Sir Jack. Count Brion will not deal fairly with us... and I would not have him betray you to your death.”

Jack grinned. “Don’t worry too hard about that,” he said.


	21. Sword Fighting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack prepares for battle.

When their party rode into Morhault, it was still morning. It was obvious that they were not welcome. Peasants and knights and courtiers stared sullenly at them as they entered the courtyard of the manor house. Jack was glad he’d taken the time to dress that morning; at least he looked good while they were glaring at him. He was wearing a clean surcoat, and he’d shaved and done his hair- not that it needed much doing; he wore it shorter than most men tended to wear their hair here.

After some debate, he’d finally decided to wear his own colors, and not Arthur’s. He was here as his own man, after all, and not as a representative of the king. Dafydd had had the same thought, apparently, because he’d also changed into his own red-and-gold surcoat. The crest Jack used was _azure, a phoenix displayed argent_ , which was to say, a silver phoenix on a blue field, with its wings spread. Ancelyn had suggested it, some time after he’d arrived. Jack liked the blue color (just a touch darker than Arthur’s blue, to coordinate with Jack’s greatcoat), and the phoenix amused him.

Even in their personal colors, though, he and Dafydd were unmistakable as king’s men. They each carried their own shield emblazoned with the blue-and-crowns, which doubled as identification device and badge of office. Count Brion would know precisely who he was dealing with as soon as he saw them.

The people of Morhault might not have been happy to see them, but they didn’t impede them, either. The count’s men stood back silently to let them pass. After they’d dealt with their horses, they crossed into the hall. No herald or guard announced them, which verged very closely on rudeness. Rather, the hall went silent as they entered. There was a long moment of quiet.

“Hail, brother,” Lamaunt said, finally. “I have come to see you answer my challenge.” He was barely standing; Elowen was at his elbow, supporting him.

The man that Jack assumed to be Brion sat on an ornate chair at one end of the hall. He lounged back into it. “Are you ready, Lamaunt?” he asked, with false concern. “You hardly seem strong enough to stand, let alone fight a challenge." Brion's mouth curled up in an unpleasant sneer. "You know that we won't let you bring your woman onto the field with you, don't you?"

"If he cannot stand, then I'll stand for him." Jack's tone was amiable, but his voice filled the hall. He smiled. "I offer myself as Sir Lamaunt's champion in this challenge."

Brion regarded him carefully. Jack could see him register the shield Jack carried. "And who are you, to be my brother's champion?" he asked.

"Sir Jack Harkness," Jack answered, "Household knight to the king."

Brion frowned. "What interest could the king have in this small family dispute?" he asked, disingenuously. They all knew that Arthur would care, if he knew of it. A succession dispute that might cause a civil war in one of Arthur's counties was very much something that Arthur would have an interest in- but Arthur was busy with his Saxon troubles.

Jack smiled again, white teeth gleaming. "My lord has no direct interest in this conflict," he said. "But the Pendragon’s men are told to defend the weak and fight for right and justice. And here we are." Jack's use of _my lord_ (rather than _the king_ or _his majesty_ ) to refer to Arthur was deliberate. It served as a blunt reminder of Jack's closeness to the king. Other than the household knights, only the vassal kings and dukes swore directly to Arthur. Jack's right to claim Arthur has his direct and only lord gave him status in this society.

"What an illustrious champion you found for yourself, brother." Brion's voice was low and smooth. Jack had hoped to unsettle him, but Brion's reaction seemed to be something closer to anticipation. Maybe he was hoping to kill a king's man; Jack wasn't sure.

Lamaunt shifted, leaning more heavily on Elowen. "They say that the Lord provides for righteous men," he said, wearily. Elowen looked at him, concern on her face.

Brion ignored the insult, turning to Jack. “You are aware of the nature of the challenge?” he asked.

Jack nodded. “Mortal combat,’ he affirmed. He grinned. “I’m ready when you are.”

“In a half hour, perhaps?” said Brion, raising an eyebrow challengingly.

“You cannot!” Elowen protested. “He should be offered food, and a night’s rest!”

Brion turned toward her. “Brother,” he said, coldly. “Control her. She should know better than to interrupt her betters.”

There was an audible hush in the room, and Elowen subsided, cowering as though she'd been struck.

"Count Brion," Jack said, forcing another smile, "I've already agreed to fight you. There's no need to make the prospect more attractive."

Brion was not amused. "Does half an hour's time suit you, Sir Jack Harkness?"

Jack nodded. "Why don't we get this over with?" he agreed.

\-----------------------------

He and Dafydd had not brought their squires with them. Scouting was too dangerous, and besides, it was supposed to be short term. Furthermore, it was expected that they would simply stay in their armor for the duration of their mission. Both Jack and Dafydd had changed out of their armor in order to greet Brion's court. Now, he needed to put the armor back on. Without having to be asked, Dafydd began helping him. The other knight tied the armor to the points of his arming doublet, his long fingers dexterously tying knots.

"Thank you," Jack told him, sincerely. He could have done it himself, but it would have been extremely awkward.

Dafydd frowned, and ducked down to tie a point under Jack's arm. "You are welcome," he said. He began testing the fit of the armor. Jack could tell that he had something to say, and waited. "You needn't have done this," Dafydd blurted out, finally. "We both know that I am the better swordsman. I should have been the one to take on this challenge."

Jack smiled, affably. "I didn't take you for a glory hound, Dafydd," he said.

Dafydd punched his shoulder, but not with any force behind it. "Don't play the fool, Jack," he snapped. "This is mortal combat. You could die, and none would avenge you. Arthur would be angry, but he would not interfere with the outcome of a lawful challenge."

Jack smiled, and it was a little sad. Dafydd was, like most of Arthur's knights, a good man. "It's too late to worry about it now, Dafydd. I'll have to do my best to not lose."

Dafydd handed Jack his helmet. “Watch your left side,” he said. “You tend to leave yourself open there, if you are not being careful.”

“Good to know,” Jack said. He smiled. “See you on the flip side, Dafydd.”

Dafydd shook his head. “You are a strange man, Jack. But a good knight. Good luck.”

Dafydd turned and left the pavilion. He took Jack’s shield with him. Jack would carry Lamaunt’s shield in the contest, and a shield of one of the king’s knights was too valuable to leave lying around. As Dafydd left, Jack saw Elowen, hovering uncertainly by the entrance. “Elowen?” he called. “Is there something wrong with Lamaunt?”

She entered, all nervous energy. Her eyes darted around the pavilion, and she was biting her lip. She was also holding a large bundle, which Jack eyed curiously. “My lord Lamaunt is as he was,” she said. “It is you I fear for now.”

“Brion didn’t call a champion,” Jack observed.

“He will,” she said, certainly. “He wants to catch you off-balance, to give you less time to prepare yourself. But he is too much a coward to face you himself, especially knowing that you are a king’s man.”

Jack shrugged. “I have my armor, and my sword. No matter who I’m fighting, the outcome is up to me now.”

She looked at him shyly. “I had hoped to offer help,” she said. She seemed to be trying to think of the right words to say, and then gave up. Wordlessly, she offered the bundle to him.

Jack took it, and unbound the cloth wrappings. After a moment, they fell away, and he could see what lay inside. It was a sword.

Calling it “a sword” did not really do it justice. Jack had seen many swords in his long life, especially lately. This sword was something special. It gleamed, and when he picked it up it was so perfectly balanced that it felt like a feather in his hand, despite its weight. He could almost hear it sing, as it sliced through the air.

“It was my brother’s sword,” she said. “Who had it from his father. They say the Fair Folk made it, originally. There are no swordsmiths like the goblin craftsmen, and no art like theirs in all the earth.”

“You’re giving this to me?” Jack asked. He swung it again, carefully. “It’s beautiful,” he said, frankly. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Then carry it,” she said, stepping close to him. “For this battle, while you take my lord’s part. Carry it to victory.”

Jack looked down at her- she was all blue eyes, and a halo of blonde hair around her head. Jack flashed a charming smile. “Thank you, lady,” he said. He took her hand, brushing his lips across her knuckles. “I will carry it, and when I see it shine, I will remember the shining of your eyes.”

She smiled, her dimples showing. “Sir Jack,” she said. “You speak prettily, but I think that you have a rogue’s heart.”

“A knight’s heart, surely,” he said, and grinned.

\------------------------------

With Elowen gone, Jack slipped his surcoat on over his armor, and belted it. He put on his helmet, and slipped Elowen’s sword through the ring on his belt. He picked up Lamaunt’s shield (argent, a boar statant gules, a label for difference), and walked out of the pavilion and onto the field. It was a dusty stretch of ground bordered by wooden stands. Jack took note of the uneven spots; paying attention to terrain was vital, as Ancelyn had proved in their first bout. At the end was an open pavilion, with a seat on a dais. In that seat lounged Brion, unarmored, and carrying no weapon.

“Brion!” Jack called, flipping up his visor. “You seem a little underdressed for the occasion.” It looked like Elowen was right.

Brion leaned back in his chair. “If my brother doesn’t want to get his hands dirty,” he said, “I don’t see why I should have to. I will have a champion fight in my stead as well.”

He clapped, and from the other end of the field, another armored knight appeared. He, like Jack, carried a shield and a sword- but the other knight’s shield was unmarked. He walked to the middle of the field, drew his sword, and saluted. Jack flipped his visor back down, and faced off with him, saluting back.

Brion stood. “The challenge is mortal combat,” he announced, to the crowd. “At stake is the rule of the county.” He grinned cruelly. “Fight until one of you lies dead on the field, gentlemen.” With that, he sat down on his chair, and waved for them to begin.


	22. Mortal Combat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack fights someone else's battles.

Jack and his opponent took their stances, circling. Jack was inclined to let his opponent strike first, but there was a long moment when no one did anything. Finally, Jack sliced toward his opponent's left shoulder. It was a test- how fast did his opponent react, how hard, how precise was his block, was there anything in his stance that Jack could exploit?

As he swung Elowen's beautiful sword, Jack had a curious feeling that he was missing something; that there was something here that was important. Then he had no time to think about it. His opponent riposted Jack's strike, and he had to worry about sharp steel near his soft flesh, and not niggling uneasy feelings.

They traded blows cautiously, for a time, each taking the measure of the other. Jack’s opponent was good- a touch faster than Jack, but not quite as strong. He had been well-trained in the use of the sword; probably better-trained than Jack. Jack had worked hard to improve his swordsmanship during his time in Camelot, and he did have certain advantages in age and general experience. Still, it wasn't quite the same as someone who had probably been carrying a sword since he could walk.

The other knight swung his sword viciously fast toward Jack's shoulder, and the fight began in earnest. Reflexively, Jack dropped into a crouch, and his opponent's sword sliced through the air over his head. Covering his body with his shield, Jack thrust up at the other knight. The other knight caught the thrust on his shield.

Jack had expected that. He'd hoped that the strike would keep his opponent busy long enough for Jack to get to his feet, but he hadn't actually thought it would get through the other man's defenses. What happened, however, was that Jack's sword thrust straight through the other knight's shield, through his cuisse, and into his thigh. Masking his surprise, Jack leaped to his feet, pulling his sword free.

The other knight eyed him warily for a moment. Then he swung towards Jack's left shoulder. Jack prepared to bring his shield up, but at the last moment, the strike changed. Jack was barely able to bring his sword up in time to protect his right flank. Sparks flew, as his opponent's sword struck his and raked up the length of the blade.

Shifting his stance, Jack thrust towards his opponent's left side. Rather than blocking with his untrustworthy shield, the other knight twisted, parrying with his sword raised. With their blades locked together, the other knight shoved the whole weight of his body into Jack’s shield. Caught out, Jack stumbled backward, struggling to keep his feet. His opponent swung the flat of his blade back around, smashing it into Jack’s head. Jack’s ears rang, and he could feel a wet trickle from his right ear. To make things worse, the blow had twisted Jack’s helmet, so that he could barely see. He didn’t dare drop his sword or his shield to turn it back around; he tried to nudge his helmet back into place with his elbow, keeping an eye on the other knight as best he could. With no peripheral vision, though, Jack couldn't watch the terrain. His foot hit a root, and Jack stumbled and fell. He heard his opponent’s footsteps, coming toward him. He braced himself for a strike, preparing to try to roll away from it.

The strike did not come. When Jack fixed his helmet and turned, he saw his opponent standing there, offering him a hand up.

“What are you doing?” Brion called to his champion, angrily. “You were told to _kill_ him, not dance with him.”

The knight ignored Brion. He stood for a long moment, his hand outstretched. Jack reached out and took the hand, and got to his feet. The other knight bowed, and then retreated, taking his stance. Jack retrieved his shield, bowed back, and also took a stance.

“Thank you,” Jack called. “That was an honorable thing to do.” _Honor_ was an important word, here. People lived and died for it, and Jack had learned not to use the word lightly.

Jack gathered himself. He drew his sword up into a crushing overhead strike. The other knight raised his shield to block. As Jack’s sword made impact, though, the shield cracked into pieces under the force of the blow. The knight cried out, and Jack could tell that his wrist must also be injured. Trying to keep Jack off him, the other knight sliced wildly at Jack's belly, but Jack was easily able to deflect it with his own shield. The other knight pivoted away quickly, protecting his body. Jack could see the man wince as he put his weight on his left leg. Jack’s opponent discarded the shattered remains of his shield, obviously preparing to continue on with only his sword.

Jack frowned. This wasn't a fair fight; it couldn't be. The man in front of him might sustain wounds that he would carry with him the rest of his life, might even die. He risked everything, and Jack risked nothing at all. He sighed. An immortal had no business playing at blood sports with mortals. He tossed his shield away; he had enough of an advantage over his opponent as it was. He didn't need any more.

There was a moment where Jack's opponent seemed to acknowledge his gesture. Then, the other knight lunged at Jack. Jack sidestepped the strike, and batted his opponent's blade away. With the other knight's blade pushed wide from his body, it gave Jack an opening. He slashed toward his opponent's right side. The other knight stepped back and raised his sword to block.

Jack's sword gleamed in the sunlight as it swung through the air, both beautiful and deadly. When it impacted the other knight’s sword, there was a metallic scream. Jack sheared straight through the other man’s blade. The top part of the blade flew to the side, following the arc of Jack’s strike. His opponent was left with less than a foot of jagged and broken blade.

Jack raised his sword to the other knight’s throat. “Surrender,” he said. This was a fight to the death, but Jack had no intention of killing anyone today.

There was a pause, and Jack’s opponent spoke for the first time since he’d come on the field. His voice was low and rough. “This is mortal combat,” he said. “I cannot surrender, not as long as I can still fight.”

Suddenly, he closed with Jack, knocking Jack’s sword upward with the crossguard of his own mangled blade. He thrust into Jack’s side. The blade jammed directly into the gap between two pieces of Jack’s plate armor and into the chainmail that covered the gaps underneath. Chainmail, Jack reflected, is very good at deflecting slashing attacks, but is somewhat more vulnerable to stabbing. The point of the blade forced its way through Jack’s armor and into his flesh. Without thinking about it, Jack sliced down hard with his sword, and his opponent dived away.

The wound in his side was shallow, but it still hurt. Jack knew without looking that red blood was seeping into the blue fabric of his surcoat. It would heal, but Jack would have to be cautious of his side until then. He brought his sword up defensively, regarding his opponent.

The other knight picked up Jack’s shield from the ground next to him. They circled for for a moment, considering each other. The other knight attacked a few times, thrusting, and then leaping back as Jack parried. The other knight was testing his defenses, trying to find a way in past the deadly reach of that sword. On the third try, though, he stepped on his wounded leg, and faltered. Jack, swinging towards his opponent’s right, managed to slice the other knight’s shield in half; Lamaunt’s boar was bisected, the lower half dropping cleanly to the ground.

At first, Jack thought he’d hit the shield only. The other knight, though, cried out, and dropped helplessly to one knee. Jack suddenly realized that he’d sliced through not only shield, but armor besides. Blood flowed, wet and red, from the other man’s side.

“I think,” said Jack’s opponent weakly, “that you have something that does not belong to you.”

Jack didn’t know what to make of that. “Surrender,” he said, putting the other knight to point again. “You can’t fight anymore, and I don’t want to kill you. Just surrender, and let’s be done with this.”

His opponent didn’t answer. Suddenly, the man shoved the remains of his shield upward, catching the point of Jack’s sword. The sword went through the shield, but this time, the other knight used this to his advantage. He twisted the sword to the side, and slashed hard at Jack with the jagged remnant of his own sword. It was a strong strike, and it hit true, but it didn’t even come close to hurting Jack through his armor. Jack swung at other knight’s side with the hilt of his sword, and he could hear ribs crack. The other knight staggered back, gasping in pain. _What kind of sword_ is _this?_ Jack thought. He cast his sword right, trying to shake the shield off the tip of it.

Seeing an opening, Jack’s opponent rushed him. Jack was amazed that the other man could still walk, let alone move at that speed. The other knight stabbed at Jack’s shoulder with all his strength, catching Jack at the join of his breastplate and spaulder. Instinctively, Jack rolled his body to the right. His opponent’s blade, still lodged in Jack’s shoulder, was pulled out of his opponent’s hand. Jack spun back fluidly, his sword extended in a thrust.

The other man was in the wrong place. Jack’s sword thrust through his opponent’s armor as though it wasn’t there, burying itself in the man’s belly. Jack cried out in horror; his opponent made no sound. There was a long, terrible moment where Jack stood, staring at the other man. Jack thought he could see his opponent’s eyes, wide with pain, through the slits of his visor. Then the other knight collapsed, falling limply off of Jack’s sword. Jack, recovering from his shock, dropped the sword, and caught the other knight, carrying him gently to the ground. Hoping that he hadn’t already unwittingly killed the man, Jack reached down and pulled off his opponent’s helmet, carefully.

Underneath was a too-young face, surrounded by a mop of honey-brown curls. His green eyes were open, the eyelids fluttering. Jack had seen that face before. “Arthur,” he breathed, with horror. “Arthur!” he cried aloud, desperately. He heard a gasp go through the crowd, people moving and shouting.

Arthur’s body jerked, and Jack suddenly realized that he was laughing. “I told you,” he whispered. “That you had something that did not belong to you.” Jack looked back at his sword where it lay on the ground. As though he were suddenly seeing past something he’d never noticed before, the perception filter-illusion fell away. The sword-that-was-more-than-a-sword shone strangely in the light, and he knew it for what it was.

“Excalibur,” Jack named it, resigned. Arthur’s sword, the sword that he carried with him as the symbol of his kingship. Jack had never seen Arthur fight with it, but he had a suspicion about what that would look like, now. He turned toward the stands, looking for Elowen, who’d told him that the sword belonged to her brother, who’d had it from his father. He caught sight of her. Slowly, deliberately, she stood. Blonde hair melted and faded into red, blue eyes darkened into green. There was a cruel quirk to Morgaine’s lips. She blew him a kiss. Then, with a sound of beating wings, she disappeared into nothingness.

“Surrender,” Arthur whispered urgently. “Jack- surrender to me.”

Jack turned. The challenge was not resolved yet, of course. Right now, as long as Arthur still breathed, Jack hadn’t won; and Arthur couldn’t be seen to surrender. Jack had a moment of turmoil. He’d given his word to stand as Lamaunt’s champion in the challenge. He’d also given his word to Arthur, to obey and protect him. Finally, Jack nodded- he’d just have to trust Arthur to make this right. He reached back, and picked up Excalibur once more. It felt heavy in his hands. He kneeled, and held out the sword to Arthur, his head bowed. It was important to make this visible and obvious. “I surrender, my lord,” he said, loud enough to cut across the noise of the crowd.

There was a pause, and then Brion laughed, triumphantly. “Your champion is defeated, brother,” he said, turning to Lamaunt. “Go, and do not return.”

“No,” Arthur said, finding his voice somehow. The crowd hushed listening to him. “I have won this contest, and my obligation to you is erased. I name you now brigand, and thief, and outlaw. Leave my kingdom, Brion, and pray that you never come to my attention again.” With that, Arthur collapsed, his eyes closing. They did not open.


	23. Meetings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack begins to deal with the aftermath of the duel.

They carried Arthur to a nearby convent. His heart stopped beating twice in the hour it took them to get there. Jack was glad that he’d paid attention to battlefield first aid; it was all that kept Arthur alive. When they finally arrived, sisters of Bethan and the Mother Abbess’s same order took the king away to do their best to save him.

They were accompanied to the convent by a large retinue. Every knight that Brion had captured had been set free, and many of them were Pendragon loyalists. Arthur, apparently, had volunteered himself as champion for Brion on the condition that the other knights be released after the bout. It did not escape Jack that they had both gone into that fight hoping to save lives. Arthur had been somewhat more effective.

None of the newly-freed knights had any idea how the king had come to be among their number. According to them, he had been brought in as a prisoner the day before. Brion had known that he was the king, but hadn’t seemed to care, declaring that his ransom would be all the higher. When Brion had appeared earlier that day, offering one of them his freedom in exchange for fighting a challenge, it had been Arthur who had bargained for the lives of all the knights.

After many hours in surgery, the sisters emerged with the welcome news that the king would live after all. They did not look at Jack- in general, no one looked at Jack at all. Only Dafydd spoke to him, and when he did, Jack could see pity in his eyes, and the fear that it might easily have been him who had nearly beat the king to death. After Arthur was out of surgery, Dafydd left to bring news to Ector first (who would be wondering where his missing patrol was) and to Camelot after. Jack stayed, standing watch, and wondering what he was going to say to Arthur when he woke.

Jack was the only one of Arthur's personal knights in attendance, and so he was allowed to stand watch in the king's chambers. Jack noted, however, that he was not left alone with the king. The other knights were waiting to find out whether Arthur would truly recover, and if he would forgive Jack when he did.

On the second morning after the fight, Jack arrived in Arthur's quarters to find him awake. He was propped up in the bed, being fed thin gruel by a pretty girl.

"Good morning, Jack," Arthur said weakly.

"Good to see you up," Jack answered, his voice quiet. "We were worried."

"Yes," said Arthur, grimly. He turned, and his face brightened. "This is Guinevere," he said, indicating the girl next to him. "She is Leodegrance's daughter. Have you ever met?"

 _Guinevere- right._ Jack managed with some difficulty to keep a straight face. "I don’t think so," he said, bowing. “I know I’d remember you.” She smiled and blushed, just a little.

Arthur nodded. "Guinevere, please leave us," he said. "I think Sir Jack and I have aught to say to one another."

"Of course, your Majesty," she said, and curtseyed. She turned as she reached the door. "I shall be back soon," she told him. "The Mother Abbess has tasked me to feed you, and I will see it done!"

With that, she swept out of the room, shutting the door behind her.

"They tell me it was Morgaine," Arthur said, softly.

Jack nodded. "I'm sorry," he said, simply.

Arthur leaned back in the pillows, closing his eyes. "Sir Accolon betrayed me," he said. "We were traveling to Salisbury to meet with the Earl, when we were attacked. Accolon stopped fighting. He gave me over to Brion, and he must have stolen Excalibur from me besides." He turned, looking away from Jack. "I would have thought him loyal, but he was her creature all along."

Jack had a terrible realization: Accolon had replaced him as Arthur's bodyguard when he'd asked to be released to go on patrol. Kai had been right about Morgaine, and Jack had left Arthur vulnerable to her. Jack looked away, into the distance.

Arthur's voice, still weak with pain, broke into his reverie. "And you, Jack?" he asked, quietly. "Did you betray me, too? Was your part in this accident, or design?"

Jack looked into Arthur's eyes, searching for some kind of forgiveness there. "Not _my_ design," Jack said, with dark humor coloring his voice. "Believe me, I didn’t do this on purpose."

Arthur considered him, silently. Jack waited, trying not to think of all the promises he'd broken; all the people who'd died when he was supposed to protect them. Owen, Tosh- probably Ianto and Gwen, someday. Other, older names, too. At least Arthur had lived. This time.

"I believe you," Arthur said. "You surrendered when I ordered you to." Arthur paused, and cocked his head. “Also, I saw your face when you took off my helmet. I do not think even you could have faked such surprise.”

"Maybe if we'd ever sparred before, I'd've recognized your style," Jack said, his lips quirking up in a half-smile. "I don't think I would have won, in an even fight."

Arthur smiled. "It is easy for you to be merciful to a fallen opponent," he said. "You are still secure in the knowledge that you won the match."

Jack smiled back. "No, _you_ won," he pointed out. "I surrendered, remember?"

"Ah," Arthur said. "So you did."

He closed his eyes again for a long time. After a while, Jack thought he might be asleep. He got up to leave.

"Jack," Arthur said, opening his eyes at last, "You could have killed me. You were meant to; it was the intent of the challenge. If you did not recognize me, why did you hold back?"

Jack laughed bitterly. "I came pretty damned close. Why do you think I wasn't trying?"

Arthur shook his head. "It was mortal combat. You were duty-bound to do your utmost to kill me, and yet you offered me surrender. You used the flat of your blade when you might have used the edge, and you avoided killing blows. You struck for the arm or leg, when you might have tried for the head or throat."

"You've thought about this," Jack observed.

"I did not realize that it was you I was fighting at first," Arthur said. "I could not figure out what your intention was. When I knew your identity, I thought at first that you held back, knowing it was me. Then- I was not sure." Arthur shook his head, looking tired. "So, tell me truly, Sir Jack. Why?"

Jack considered. "Because," he said, carefully, "Someone that I respect a great deal believes that all life is precious. He would be disappointed in me if he learned that I'd taken a life for as trivial a reason as someone else's challenge to the death."

"Merlin," said Arthur.

"He'd want you to abolish mortal combat in Camelot," Jack said, half-smiling. "He'd have a point, too. The problem with letting your vassals duel to the death is that, no matter what, you lose a vassal."

Arthur laughed weakly. "You sound like him," he said. "Merlin would argue ever thus, until I was so tied in knots that I gave in."

“It’s his best talent,” Jack agreed, smiling. “You should see him when there’re Daleks around.”

“Perhaps I should set him loose on the Saxons,” Arthur said. He smiled, but he did not laugh. When he shut his eyes again, he slept.

\--------------------

Arthur slept much of that day. He and Jack talked a little when he woke, but not about anything of consequence. For the most part, Jack stayed in the background, looking alert and imposing. Guinevere returned several times that day, though, and Jack noted that Arthur was almost animated when she appeared.

When Jack had become a Time Agent, he'd had to get used to the peculiar sensation of watching other people play out events that he already knew the outcome of- that, sometimes, he knew like a well-worn and familiar book. Still, he'd never watched King Arthur meet Guinevere for the first time before. He wondered whether she'd betray Arthur in this reality like she did in the Arthurian stories that Jack remembered. It was a depressing thought to have while watching two young people fall somewhat obviously in love.

When another guard came, Arthur gave Jack leave to go. He emphasized that Jack was to return in the morning- a signal to the other knights that Jack was still trusted, not a traitor. Then Arthur returned to discussing childhoods with Guinevere over gruel. Jack hadn't eaten all day; the gruel almost looked appetizing. He headed to the kitchen. He had missed dinner, but he was confident in his ability to charm food out of the kitchen staff.

He was still eating when Guinevere appeared in the kitchen, carrying Arthur's dishes. Jack nodded to her over his stew. "Fancy meeting you here," he called, amiably.

"Oh, hello, Sir Jack," she said, noticing him for the first time. She smiled at him, and put the dishes in the appropriate place. “Are you enjoying your supper?”

Jack nodded. "Is he resting well?" Jack asked. There was still every possibility that things could go badly for Arthur; now was a delicate time for him.

Guinevere nodded, politely, but then frowned. "Sir Jack?" she asked. "You have been in the king's service for some time, have you not?"

Jack shrugged. "Almost two years now," he said. "Why do you ask?"

"Has he ever..." she trailed off, blushing. She gathered herself. "Has he ever courted one of the ladies of Camelot?"

"Not that I've ever seen," Jack said, failing to repress a smile. Young love was _adorable._

Guinevere seemed to consider this. "Sir Jack," she said, with the air of someone about to ask a delicate question, "Do you know if the fair-haired maiden who has come to visit him is a relative, perhaps? She was most insistent on seeing him, though he had already gone to sleep."

Under other circumstances, Jack might have been amused or sympathetic to her nascent jealousy. Right now, however, he was stuck on ‘fair-haired’. He vaulted up out of his seat, heading for Arthur's chamber with all speed.

"Jack?" Guinevere called, behind him. "Jack, is there something wrong?"

When he reached Arthur's door, he was unsurprised to find that it did not open; something was blocking it. Jack threw himself against the door, shoving it wide. The problem, he discovered, was that there had been a body blocking the door. It belonged to the knight who had replaced Jack on guard duty; Jack didn’t know his name. Jack pushed past him into the room. Just as he'd feared, there was a familiar blonde woman standing over the king's bed. She was holding Excalibur, still in its scabbard.

"Hello, Morgaine," Jack called, his voice a warning. He put a hand on his sword- not that he expected that to do much good; the other knight had been armed, too. “I love what you’ve done with your hair.”

She turned to look at him, Elowen's false face shimmering into nothing in the candlelight. Looking at it critically, Jack was pretty sure that she was using some sort of holo-imager on herself- possibly in the necklace she was wearing, though it could be disguised as anything.

“Jack,” she said, smiling cruelly. She slid Excalibur into her belt and put two fingers to Arthur’s temple. Jack wasn’t sure what she meant by that, but it was impossible to miss the threat in her body language. Arthur, fortunately or unfortunately, seemed firmly unconscious. “I did not expect to snare _you_ in my little trap,” she said. “I did not think that you would leave Merlin’s side; usually you are to be found barking at his heels like a puppy.”

Jack leaned on the wall, looking casual. It gave him a better angle on her. He took stock of her and the room. “You think I’m soft and nice to pet?” he asked, smiling sweetly. “You didn’t have to go to all this trouble to get my attention, Morgaine- you only had to ask.”

She laughed, once. “Vulgar man. Do you think this is a time for jests? Stand aside, and let me pass.”

Jack crossed his arms. “What will you do if I don’t?” he asked.

She raised her left hand, her right still firmly at Arthur’s temple. She gestured, and her fingers sparked with blue lightning. She smiled, and it was a terrible smile. “I could kill him with a thought,” she said, with satisfaction. “Now, stand aside.”

 _Integrated plasma arc_ , Jack thought. He’d run across them during his tenure as a Time Agent. They were more flashy than practical, but it would be no less deadly to Arthur. Jack considered. “You don’t want to kill him,” he said, slowly. “If you did, he’d be dead. You could have murdered him any time, back at Camelot. I think you want him out of the way, but you don’t want to do it yourself. Why don’t you step away from Arthur, and we can talk about this?”

Arthur stirred. His eyelashes fluttered, and he turned his head groggily. Morgaine glanced at him for just a split second, and then her gaze turned back to Jack. “I think not,” she said, with a sneer. “You may imagine me to have a soft heart, with a sisterly regard for my brother. But I assure you, I am steel throughout. _Out of my way_ ,” she hissed, “Or I _will_ kill him.”

Jack froze, considering his options. If he let her go, she’d be free to attack Arthur again, and Camelot. On the other hand, she made a convincing argument as to why he should get out of her way. Slowly, grudgingly, he moved aside.

And then, suddenly, he was presented with a third choice. There was a flash of light, and the burn of ozone in the air. Someone appeared out of nowhere directly on top of Morgaine, knocking her clear of Arthur. That someone scrambled to his feet. There was a bizarre-looking device in one hand. In the other, he held a sonic screwdriver.

"Morgaine!" the Doctor said, grinning madly. "I've been looking everywhere for you."


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morgaine runs.

Morgaine struggled to get to her feet. "Merlin," she hissed, rage writ plain on her face.

"That's me," the Doctor said cheerfully, waving brightly at her with his screwdriver hand. "I don't suppose you'd be willing to give me that sword?" he asked. He turned slightly toward Jack. "Not that it's really a sword, mind you."

"It fights like a sword," Jack observed ruefully. He noted that the Doctor kept himself between Morgaine and Arthur.

"Even so," the Doctor continued, "It's not a sword. It's a key. Isn't that right, Morgaine?"

She gripped Excalibur tightly in one hand. She raised the other hand toward the Doctor. "I shall teach you not to interfere in my affairs, Merlin," she snarled. Lightning crackled out of her fingertips. The energy arced toward the Doctor- and then splashed harmlessly against an invisible barrier.

"Oh, Morgaine," he said with a grin that Jack was certain Morgaine found _extremely_ irritating. "You're going to have used that trick on me before, and I've had two years to prepare.” He soniced the device in his other hand. "Don't let her leave, Jack. She can't teleport, not so long as she's holding that thing-that-isn't-a-sword. It's the locus of enough subspace distortion to blow us all into smithereens if she tried to transport it that way. _Boom_ , as a young friend of mine once said."

Morgaine smiled. "Perhaps I might desire that oblivion," she said. "If I can destroy you and my brother in the process, it might be worth it." She fingered the pendant on her necklace. "If you do not step out of my way, perhaps I will blow us all, as you say, to smithereens."

The Doctor shook his head. "I never fancied you as the suicidal type, Morgaine."

Morgaine smiled sweetly. "Would you take that chance, Merlin? I will be executed for treason if I stay. As long as I remain in this room, I am a dead woman either way.”

“No.” Arthur’s voice came from behind the Doctor, weak and hoarse. Arthur pulled himself blearily to sitting. “Traitor you might be, but you are still my kin.” Arthur covered his face with one hand. His voice was tired. “ _Why_ , Morgaine? We have not always agreed, my sister, but I thought that you still cared for me.”

There was a terrible moment when Jack thought that Morgaine might start to cry, and then her eyes hardened. “You are Uther’s spawn,” she spat. She did not meet Arthur’s eyes. “With you gone, his blood would be erased from this world, and my son would rule.” She frowned, her voice going contemplative. “If I but touch this locket, we will all be destroyed, and Mordred will inherit.”

Jack broke in. “No,” he said. “He won’t. Sir Dafydd has already gone to take word to Camelot. Even if you killed every man, woman and child in this building, the kingdom would still know that Mordred was the son of a traitor.”

Arthur pulled himself to his feet, clutching a tapestry on the wall for support. He swayed, barely able to stand. “The vassal kings would never accept Mordred as the Pendragon,” he said, wearily. “If that was your plan, Morgaine, then it has failed. I live, and you are revealed. There is nothing for you here any longer. Return Excalibur to me, and face judgment.” He held out a hand.

Morgaine recoiled from him as though he were holding a laser in his hand. “I will do no such thing, brother. And you may be able to counter my magics, Merlin,” she sneered, “But you have left your lapdog unprotected.”

She raised her hand, and lightning crackled through Jack’s body. His muscles seized, and it felt as though his whole body was being shaken by some almighty force. The pain was exquisite. And then it was over- Jack collapsed to the floor, convulsing. His head fell to the side, and for a moment, he couldn't move, his muscles clenched tight.

"Morgaine!" Arthur cried, angrily. With a sudden burst of strength, he reached out and grabbed the hilt of Excalibur, pulling the sword away. It gleamed beautifully in the dim light of the room.

There was a pause. Then Morgaine cried out in frustration. "This is not our last meeting," she said, ominously. She reached for her necklace, and was gone. Arthur swayed on his feet, holding Excalibur close to his body, protectively. He stumbled backward onto his bed, and the Doctor ran for the door. "On your feet, Jack," the Doctor said. "That was a short-range teleport; we might still be able to catch her."

Arthur sighed. "Must you pursue her? We have Excalibur. Surely there is little damage else she can do."

Jack pulled himself painfully up from the floor. The Doctor turned to Arthur. "Never underestimate Morgaine's ability to cause trouble," he said, seriously. "Besides- you may have Excalibur, but she's got the scabbard. And believe me, the scabbard's worth _ten_ of the sword!" He took off running at full speed down the hallway, and Jack took off after him. Jack hadn't run down a corridor after the Doctor since they'd come here. It felt strangely like being home.

When they reached the courtyard, Jack saw Ancelyn standing there with horses ready. "Jack!" he said, surprised. "I did not think to find you here."

"That's funny," Jack answered. "I didn't expect to see you here either.”

"There'll be time for explanations later!" the Doctor said, leaping ahorse. "Morgaine's army is camped to the north of here. If we hurry, we might be able to intercept them."

Jack and Ancelyn jumped into their saddles, and the three men rode out of the courtyard at a full gallop.

\-----------------------

The Doctor led the way, the sonic screwdriver buzzing in the night air. “I can track the signature of her teleport,” he explained as they rode. “We’ve been following her since she left Camelot.”

“When Arthur disappeared, we knew it had to be her doing,” Ancelyn put in, grimly. “How fares the king?”

“Badly,” Jack said. “It’s... a long story. But he’ll live, provided no one gets to take a second shot at him.” It was a story that Ancelyn wouldn’t be pleased to hear. Now, however, was not the time. “Accolon was working for Morgaine,” he said.

Ancelyn swore. “That traitor!” he cried.

“We’ve got other things to worry about at the moment,” the Doctor put in. “Right now, we have a thief to catch!”

They followed the Doctor over the countryside. They left the road behind in fairly short order. It meant that they had to ride slower, but they might be able to intercept Morgaine and her small army. They crested a hill. The road lay below. It was trampled and muddy- Morgaine and her men had passed this way, and recently.

"Come on," the Doctor said. "Three men can ride faster than fifty. We'll catch up to them in no time." The Doctor estimated that they were only about a mile behind the army. Jack could hear the rumble of hoofbeats in the distance. What the Doctor planned to do when he caught them, Jack wasn't sure, but he knew that the Doctor would think of something. It was the Doctor’s speciality.

It wasn't long before Morgaine and her men came into sight. "Jack! Ancelyn!" the Doctor called. "Catch!" The Doctor pulled some small and metallic somethings out of his pockets. Without slowing down, he tossed them to the two knights. Jack caught his reflexively, and examined it. He started laughing. By the design, he recognized it as a homemade anti-neutron charge; an explosive that affected only inorganic matter. If he were to throw it into the mass of horses and men in front of him, they would be uninjured- but the ground underneath them would vaporize. "Get in front of them!" the Doctor shouted, and spurred his own horse forward.

Jack went one way. At the same time, without having to be told, Ancelyn went the other. They rode into the forest on the side of the road, riding as fast as they could through the trees. Jack tried to be careful- he might be immortal, but his horse was not. He turned, and saw the Doctor riding after the army, who seemed not to notice a lone Time Lord on a horse behind them. Then, suddenly, the Doctor and his horse disappeared. Just as suddenly, they reappeared in front of the column. “Running away, Morgaine?” he called, his voice ringing out in the night air. “You’re riding off very quickly, for someone with all these soldiers at her beck and call.”

“Merlin!” she screamed, reigning up her horse. She narrowly missed crashing into him. Her men rode up until they had him surrounded. She visibly calmed herself. “Have you come looking for the scabbard?” she asked, nastily. “Do you even understand what it is?”

Jack didn’t have to see the Doctor’s face to know that he was grinning. Jack carefully moved himself into position in the trees, and waited. “I do, yes,” the Doctor said. “It’s a transdimensional warp stabilizer- but _you_ knew that, didn’t you, Morgaine?”

Morgaine laughed. “You have such faith in your science, Merlin,” she sneered. “Your words of power confuse as much as instruct. _I_ would say that the scabbard is a shield- that it provides protection when traveling through the portals into other worlds.”

“Accurate,” the Doctor allowed. “But it lacks something in brevity.” His tone went suddenly dark. “I will stop you, you know,” he said.

Morgaine smiled, coldly. “Like you stopped me from tricking your pet into beating Arthur near to death?”

There was a pause; Jack could tell that that one hit home. “Do you know how old I am, Morgaine?” the Doctor said, finally. He didn’t let her answer. “I have faced so very, very many megalomaniacs and tyrants and villains over the centuries. And do you know what they all had in common?” He pulled out his sonic screwdriver, and grinned, suddenly. “They all made the mistake of letting me talk,” he said. He triggered the screwdriver, and disappeared.

Jack knew a signal when he saw one. He thumbed the timer on his bomb and lobbed it into the mass of Morgaine’s soldiers- who were conveniently clustered around the spot where the Doctor wasn’t anymore. There was a shimmer in the air, and an understated _foom_. Then there was chaos. The men were unaffected by the charge, and so were their horses. Their clothes were made of natural materials- wool and linen- and so were left intact. Their armor, however, was metal. Their saddles and tackle were primarily leather, but the buckles were metal. In the epicenters of the blast, armorless men shouted as they slid off of horses into a dusty sinkhole of what remains when you remove the inorganic matter from dirt.

From somewhere in the middle of the mass, Morgaine screamed in anger and frustration. She rode up out of the maelstrom of men and horses, still carrying the scabbard. Apparently, whatever it was made of was too robust to be affected by a mere anti-neutron charge.

"Ride!" she shouted to her men. "Ride or be left behind!" She spurred her horse and rode, bareback, at all speed down the road. Some of her men managed to pull themselves out and follow; most foundered. Jack galloped down onto the road, following close on their heels. To his right, the Doctor and Ancelyn joined him.

“Game plan?” he called to the Doctor.

“Don’t let her get away with the scabbard!” the Doctor answered, helpfully. “If we can keep up with her, she’s got nowhere to go.”

Morgaine had no more than a dozen men at her back now, most of whom had been at the edges of the blast radius. Their armor hung off in pieces, and empty leather scabbards hung uselessly at their belts. Morgaine shouted, and two of the dozen turned, pulling weapons that had not been destroyed by the Doctor's bombs. Bows, Jack reflected in that long moment, are made of wood, and they are strung with sinew. Arrowheads are usually metal, of course, but headless arrows will still fly, even if they won’t fly as far or as accurately.

Ancelyn surged ahead of the Doctor, putting himself in between the Time Lord and the archers. As Jack watched, arrows clattered uselessly against the other knight’s armor. Ancelyn raised a hand to protect his face. Headless arrows would never penetrate armor, but they would still pierce flesh.

When Jack looked back to Morgaine and her men, he saw only a rolling meadow. They were gone.


	25. Small Mercies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack and the Doctor try to figure out what just happened to them.

Jack heard the Doctor's screwdriver buzzing behind him. The Doctor was trying to catch Morgaine’s signal again- but he had been tracking her teleport signature, and her teleporter had been reduced to component atoms. Jack and Ancelyn charged forward. Behind them, the Doctor was fiddling furiously with his machinery, saying, “No, no, no, no, no!” in the particular way he did when things started to go seriously wrong. Jack and Ancelyn rode forward, looking for Morgaine and her men. Jack was baffled. The terrain here was flat meadow. Unless she'd doubled back into the forest behind them, she had nowhere to hide.

They rode up to one of the circles of standing stones that seemed to litter the countryside in this part of the universe. Jack checked, but Morgaine and her company did not seem to be hiding behind the stones- not that there would have been room. He and Ancelyn pulled up together a little ways away.

"It was but a moment!" Ancelyn protested to Jack. "I closed my eyes against the arrows, and when I opened them, she was gone."

"They can't have gone far," Jack answered him. "We destroyed her teleporter, and even if we hadn't, there's no way a personal teleport could transport that many men."

The Doctor rode up. “No trace,” he said, frustrated. “It’s like she vanished, except she can’t have vanished; all she had on her was the scabbard and her clothes.”

Ancelyn turned. “She said that the scabbard was used when traveling to other worlds,” he said. “Might she have used it to open such a portal, and step through with her men?”

The Doctor shook his head. “It’s a stabilizer,” he said. He jumped down from his horse, and began pacing, one hand on his hair. “She’d need the sword to open a gateway. You couldn’t travel through without the scabbard, not safely, but the scabbard alone isn’t enough. Gah!” he cried. “I’m missing something. I can sense it. There’s something at the edge of my mind, and I can’t remember it. Why not? I’m brilliant; I don’t miss things. What am I not seeing?” The Doctor froze, suddenly. “Jack,” he said. “Ancelyn.”

“Yeah?” Jack asked. He was instantly alert.

“That stone circle wasn’t there before,” the Doctor said.

Suddenly, it was as though Jack was looking at something that he’d never bothered to look at before. He wasn’t sure why he’d thought that there were standing stones there, but now that he looked closely, he could see that where he’d thought he’d seen man-sized liths, there were men on horses, standing guard. The altar stone in the center was actually Morgaine, kneeling in the center of the circle, with the scabbard on her lap. She seemed to be making some sort of adjustment to it.

“Very clever, Merlin,” she said. “Not many can see through the clouds I place on men’s minds.”

The Doctor pointed his screwdriver at Morgaine. “I’ve always been clever,” he said, warily. “Just like you. What do you think you’re doing, Morgaine?”

She smiled, sweetly, and stood. She held the scabbard across her body. “It is true. One cannot open a portal to the Other World with the scabbard alone. You know so much, Merlin.” Her tone was mocking. “But what if a portal already existed, and one knew the manner of its opening? Would the scabbard be sufficient then?”

“No!” the Doctor shouted, realization plain on his face. “Stop them!” Jack and Ancelyn drew their swords and rushed toward the group of them.

“Oh,” Morgaine said, laughing cruelly. “You are much too late.”

She and her men turned, and walked away into nothingness.

\-----------------

The rest of Morgaine's men straggled up shortly thereafter. Jack and Ancelyn faced them down. Unarmed, armorless and abandoned by their mistress, they surrendered quickly. Shortly after _that_ , knights from the convent arrived to take Morgaine’s men into custody. The crowd cleared slowly away, leaving Jack, Ancelyn and the Doctor to make sense of what had happened.

The area where Morgaine and her men had hidden was marked by a stone circle- not the great orthostats that Morgaine had planted in Jack's mind, but short, weatherworn stones, no taller than Jack's shins. They were smeared with something wet, sticky and red.

The Doctor scanned the area with his screwdriver. Jack, standing to the side, pondered idly that his question on seeing that thing for the first time ought not to have been "who sees a screwdriver and thinks, this could be a little more sonic?" but rather, "who sees a screwdriver and thinks, this should be able to monitor alien transmissions?" The Doctor had gone a bit beyond making an efficient tool for putting up shelves.

"She was right," the Doctor said, putting his screwdriver back in his pocket. "It was already here. I wonder where she went?" He knelt down, examining the stones. He poked one with a finger, and then licked it. "Blood," he said, grimacing. " _Morgaine's_ blood." He jumped up. "There’s a genetic seal on the gate.” He turned suddenly to Ancelyn. “Did you know Morgaine wasn't human? Not completely, at any rate."

Ancelyn frowned. "Some say there is faery blood in her. Do you think it true, then?"

The Doctor nodded. "No plain old human could have opened this gate- Time Lord either, for that matter." He paused, reflectively. "It explains why she was able to pull off that trick with the stones. A human shouldn't have that kind of psychic ability."

"Is there any way to tell where the gate took her?" Jack asked.

The Doctor shook his head. "Not without reopening it, which we can't do without different ancestry than we have. But at least she was limited to a single destination," he added, his head cocked. "If she'd been able to steal the sword, she could have gone anywhere she liked."

"Small mercies," Jack commented drily.

They rode back toward the convent together. Jack let the Doctor take the lead, dropping back to match pace with Ancelyn. “It’s good to see you up again,” Jack said.

“I have lain abed too long,” Ancelyn agreed. “It has pained me to see others out fighting, when I could not.”

Jack laughed darkly. “If I hadn’t gone out fighting, maybe Morgaine wouldn’t have gotten her chance.”

“Do not torment yourself with possibilities, my friend,” Ancelyn said, shaking his head. “It is not for men to know all the paths of the future. We act as best we can in the present.”

“I nearly killed the king,” Jack said. “That’s not just possibility.”

“How did it happen?” Ancelyn asked, quietly.

“Morgaine. She put Excalibur in my hand, and I was too stupid to recognize it. Arthur and I were dueling to the death. I nearly won.” Jack watched Ancelyn carefully.

Ancelyn looked equal parts tired and sad. “I have known you, Jack,” he said. “You are no oathbreaker. I do not know what happened here, but I would wager that what you did, you did with honorable intentions.”

“Does that mean I’m riding down the road to hell?” Jack asked, smiling bleakly.

Ancelyn laughed. “I do not understand you, Jack,” he said, shaking his head.

“It’s a saying, from our other world,” Jack explained. “ _The road to hell is paved with good intentions_. It means, you can mean well, and still do evil.”

“This is true,” Ancelyn allowed. “But does this mean we must never act, for fear that something will go wrong? We are knights, Jack. We are men of action.”

“And what do we knights do when things do go wrong?” Jack asked.

“Drinking and wenches,” Ancelyn said, grinning. “They might be short on wenches at the convent, but I’d wager that the Mother Abbess has a stash of spirits.”

“You, Ancelyn, are a man after my own heart.” Jack said, laughing.

\---------------------

Arthur was asleep when they got back to the convent, but he’d left strict instructions that Merlin and his companions be brought in to see him when they returned. Guinevere was sitting at his bedside when they entered. Seeing them, she shook Arthur’s shoulder gently, whispering in his ear. Ancelyn was visibly taken aback at the extent of the king’s wounds.

Arthur stirred. The blanket pulled back, and Jack could see that Arthur was still holding Excalibur tightly to his chest. He took in the three of them, and nodded. “What news do you bring me, Merlin?” he asked. His voice was rough with pain and sleep.

“I’m sorry,” the Doctor said. “She took some of her men, and used the scabbard to escape through a portal that was apparently just sitting out there in the countryside. Who puts a gateway through space and time in the middle of a field?”

"The Fair Folk," Arthur said, wearily. "Or so the tales say. I thought them only stories. It seems, as with so many other things, that I was wrong in that."

"I never knew Excalibur to be more than a sword!" Ancelyn exclaimed. "How can it be that none in Camelot knew that it had such powers?"

"Arthur knew," the Doctor said. Arthur nodded. The king leaned back into his bed, his eyes closed. He looked pale and sick in the dim light of the room.

"It was the great secret weapon of the Pendragons," the Doctor continued. "Uther used it at St. Albans, but his men were sworn to secrecy. I only worked it out because I'm a Time Lord. Also, as previously mentioned, I'm incredibly clever. I do wonder how Morgaine found out about it, though," he said, thoughtfully.

"I thought she was clever, too," Jack commented.

"She's not a Time Lord," the Doctor said, frowning. "I knew there was something particular about that sword from the first time I saw it- temporal resonance. Other species aren't usually sensitive to it. Humans certainly aren't."

"Morgaine must have corrupted someone who knew the secret," Arthur said, sadly. "I think I have trusted my men too readily, taken their loyalty too much for granted."

"Don't be too hard on yourself," the Doctor said. "A good king _has_ to trust his people. If you trust them, you might still get betrayed here and there. But if you _don't_ trust them, they’ll never give you their hearts at all."

"You are kind, Merlin," Arthur said. “Perhaps you are even right. I will think on it- but now I must rest.” He turned to Ancelyn. “I see Merlin brought you with him, Ancelyn.”

Ancelyn nodded. “I was still unassigned, my lord, and he needed an assistant.”

“I reassign you, then,” Arthur said, his voice faint. “Stay with me, and stand guard while I sleep.”

“I will, my lord,” Ancelyn said, his face clouded with emotion. He went to the head of Arthur’s bed, and took a bodyguard’s posture. Arthur smiled, and closed his eyes.

Jack knew when he was dismissed. He followed the Doctor quietly out of the room.

"I'd wondered how the scabbard got separated," the Doctor muttered, under his breath. Jack didn't ask him to elaborate- timelines, again. Still-

"Will Arthur recover?" he asked, as they walked.

"Jack," the Doctor drawled, disapprovingly. "You know better than that."

“I do,” Jack said, and grinned. “Still, you can’t blame a guy for trying.”

"I don't know," the Doctor said, after a moment. “He won’t die today, but I can’t tell you whether he’ll really get better.” He jammed his hands into his pockets. "I don't know everything."

“Do you think Morgaine will be back?” Jack asked, and this time he was only asking for speculation, and not for information he shouldn’t have.

“She’ll be back,” the Doctor said. “As long as Arthur’s alive, she’ll never be able to leave him alone.”

“Family is strange that way,” Jack said. “Love, hate- it all gets mixed together. And you never escape them, not even after they’re long buried.” He grinned again. “Maybe it’s different for Time Lords.”

The Doctor shrugged. “Some things are the same no matter who you are,” he said. He stopped, peering out of the window. It was small, and the glass was thick and warped. Outside, the sun was starting to rise, and the sky was turning pink. “Come, on, Jack,” the Doctor said, “We have a lot of preparation to do still. Best get on it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _End: Part Two_
> 
> Part Three, in which the Doctor does what he came to do, and Jack struggles to protect what he cares for, should begin in a week.


	26. The Oaks of Cameliard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part Three begins.

_A year later:_

Jack felt the axe-blade bite into his neck, and he knew that he was done for a while. He spun weakly to the ground, blood pumping out of his arteries faster than even his body could replace it.

"Good god, Jack!" a voice said sometime later, as he gasped into wakefulness. "I thought you dead for certain. Where are you wounded?"

Jack sat up, opening his eyes. "Me, wounded?" he asked, disingenuously. "Is Merlin alright?" They'd been delivering supplies and new technology to Bramwood village when they'd run into raiders.

"For an unwounded man, you are covered in a great deal of blood," Dafydd said, eyeing him suspiciously.

"You should see the other guy," Jack said, grinning. One of these days, Dafydd was going to see something that couldn't be explained away, and Jack was going to have to account for his peculiar abilities. Today was, however, not that day.

Dafydd was not amused. "Merlin is well,” he said, looking over his shoulder. “He always is."

"Everyone accounted for?" the Doctor called. He breezed up, taking in Jack's blood-soaked surcoat. "Right," he said. "On we go."

They rode on into the village. The townsfolk were pleased to see them, if somewhat alarmed by their blood-spattered appearance. The Doctor and his company were here to install a powered water pump, with filters that would keep many of the most harmful pathogens out of the water supply. The Doctor explained to the villagers about what they were doing and how to use it, and Jack and his fellow knight-technicians began installing the thing.

When the Doctor had first announced his intention to continue the project of bringing technology to the outlying villages, Arthur and the Doctor had argued bitterly about the issue of armed escort. Arthur had expressed concerns about the Doctor's safety, going out into contested territories. The Doctor had declared- not unreasonably, in Jack's experience- that it would take more than a few Saxons to kill him. It had culminated in the Doctor shouting about "jack-booted thugs with swords" and Arthur calling him a "stiff-necked, suicidal flap-dragon" in return. In the end, they'd agreed that the Doctor needed to take technicians along anyway, and if Arthur saw fit to make sure that they were also trained fighting men, the Doctor would try to ignore that fact.

Jack had been the obvious first choice. The Doctor had wanted Ancelyn, also, but hadn't gotten him- Ancelyn had been exclusively assigned to the king's person ever since the night Morgaine had disappeared. Dafydd had also been chosen, in part because he was the only other one of Arthur's knights who was still on speaking terms with Jack. The last member of their company was a thin, slim-fingered knight named Aglaral.

Dafydd and Jack hoisted up the pump, and began settling it into place on the well. As they moved it into position, Aglaral made fine adjustments to the engine and the filtration mechanism. Jack was the only one of the three who was really conversant with advanced technology, but Aglaral had the best touch for fine work. In another world, Jack fancied he might have been a painter or a watchmaker. Here, like virtually all men of his class, he was a soldier.

It took nearly an hour for the three knights to install the pump. The Doctor checked it over once they'd finished, tweaking the machinery here and there. The Doctor's hands moved over the machine with startling grace. Jack contemplated the freckles across the pale skin of the Doctor's hands, and the smattering of hair on the Doctor’s wrists, and the slim set of his shoulders. The shape and curve of this body was at once familiar and alien to Jack, who knew that all flesh was transitory for the Doctor. He felt for a moment the stab of a familiar, painful longing that he knew would never be satisfied. Jack laughed, shaking his head and looking away.

"Something funny?" the Doctor asked, finishing his adjustments and standing up.

Jack grinned. "You, here, bringing clean water to the masses," he lied. "I always wondered what you'd do if you were ever forced to settle down somewhere."

"I've got to find _some_ way to occupy myself," the Doctor said. He turned away, but Jack did not need to see his face to see his reaction. This was good work they were doing here, but it was domestic. Routine. The Doctor was stuck here, unable to bugger off to see the Eye of Orion or the No-longer Lost Moon of Poosh whenever he felt like it. Jack was sorry he'd brought it up. Working so closely with the Doctor in the last year, he'd seen the way the Doctor behaved around his silent, dark TARDIS. He'd noticed how the Doctor rested against it when he thought no one was looking, and the way he oriented himself toward the TARDIS no matter where he was in his lab.

"Are we done here?" Jack asked, trying to change the subject.

The Doctor pulled a lever, and water splashed out onto the ground. "I think so," he said, and grinned.

The squires packed their gear, and they mounted up to leave. "Are you taking the rear, Harkness?" Aglaral said, curtly. He was among the majority of Arthur's knights who considered Jack a traitor, and was not pleased to have been given this assignment.

"Any time you want," Jack answered, grinning. Aglaral wouldn’t get the joke, but that didn't mean Jack couldn't still be amused by it.

A little ways outside the village, they ran into one of Arthur's regular patrols. The knights passed on the information about the raiders they'd repelled, and then the group of them set out for home. Jack wasn't sure when Camelot had started to feel like home to him. He'd been here nearly three years, now. He still believed that the Doctor would find a way to fix the TARDIS and get them back into their proper universe, but the possibility seemed very distant.

"I hear his majesty wants you to stand with him at the wedding tomorrow," Jack said to the Doctor as they rode. "Have you considered what you're going to wear?" He grinned. "Robes are in style for the discerning wizard."

The Doctor shook his head. “I don’t think I like robes,” he said, absently. “Hasn’t really come up, this life. But you never know.”

Sir Dafydd spoke up. "Have you considered what _you_ will wear, Sir Jack?" he asked, an eyebrow raised. "I do not think the laundries will be able to clean that stain out by tomorrow." He indicated the blood on Jack's surcoat, the legacy of having bled to death from a throat wound. "You are very careless of your clothing, Sir Jack," he said in that dry, humorless way that meant that Dafydd was joking.

It was true, though. Jack owned several blue-and-crowns surcoats, and, as he considered, he realized that all of them had now been damaged or stained. It was the problem with trying not to kill people who were doing their damnedest to kill you- it put you at a disadvantage in a fight. Jack had died frequently in the last months, and his clothing had paid the price. "I'll have to borrow one," he said, smiling. "Either of you gentlemen care to loan me a surcoat?"

"If it were my choice, you would not have the right to wear those colors at all," Aglaral grumbled, bitterly. It was just audible enough for everyone in the party to hear it.

"It is not your choice," Dafydd snapped, loudly. "If you have forgotten, recall that it is our king's choice. Do you think yourself wiser than he?"

"No," Aglaral said, sullenly. He did not give the counter argument ( _but the king is blinded by his loyalty to one of his knights, and must be protected from himself_ ) that Jack had heard whispered by the other knights so often in the last year.

"I have a spare surcoat," Dafydd said, staunchly. "You may borrow it." He and Jack were still not friends- there was too much difference between them for that. Dafydd, though, was a man who refused to let injustice stand without marking it. Jack knew Dafydd's refusal to vilify Jack had made him unpopular, but Dafydd seemed unphased by that.

"Thanks," Jack said. "I'll do my best not to get blood all over it."

"If it should happen that we have occasion for fighting tomorrow, then I think I should forgive you that trespass," Dafydd said, almost cracking a smile.

\--------------

They returned to Camelot just in time to change and be ready for dinner. Arthur was already seated at the high table when they entered, Guinevere at his side. The two had rarely been apart from each other since Arthur's injury. It had been close to a month until he'd been stable enough to return to Camelot, and when he’d left the convent, he'd asked her to come with him. As they came into the hall, the Doctor veered off towards his seat at the high table.

Also at the high table was King Leodegrance of Cameliard, Guinevere’s father. He was dark-haired, and it was clear that the queen-to-be had gotten her looks at least partly from him; he was notably handsome. He was also well-known for being irascible and unreasonable. He had refused until now to bring his lands under the Pendragon banner. Rumor had it, though, that Leodegrance planned to swear loyalty to Arthur as part of the marriage agreement.

Jack was more immediately interested in his dinner than in politics, though. He was still seated with the other household knights, but they no longer joked and talked with him. Many of the knights he’d known well were dead, anyway, casualties of the ongoing Saxon conflict. With Dafydd alone as his companion, dinner was quiet- but at least the food was good.

Jack was nearing the end of his meal, when Leodegrance stood, raising his wine glass. The hall fell slowly silent. When all had quieted, Leodegrance cleared his throat, and began speaking. His voice was deep, booming through the hall. “Good evening to you all, people of Camelot,” he said. He turned. “And greetings most of all to my host, and soon to be my son-in-law: King Arthur, who is Pendragon.This is an occasion for celebration!” he called. “This marriage marks the joining of two great families, in an alliance that will last for generations. To commemorate this, I bring gifts.” There were whisperings throughout the hall. “King Arthur,” he said, portentously, “As my first gift to thee, I present thee a company of fifty knights.” Armed and armored men marched into the hall. They formed ranks, and saluted the high table. It was a gift that was both practical and symbolic; Leodegrance was clearly signaling his intention to provide military support to Arthur’s campaigns against the Saxons.

Leodegrance raised a hand, quieting those who had begun to chatter amongst themselves. “I have not finished,” he said. The knights cleared to the edges of the hall, and an army of servants appeared from the doorways, carrying extremely large, extremely heavy _somethings_ covered by draperies. “As my second present, I bring a gift the like of which has never been seen before in this land.” He waved a hand, and the servants pulled the draperies aside. There were many large wooden pieces, and it took Jack a moment to realize what it was. “I bring to thee a great table, built from the grand oaks of Cameliard,” Leodegrance continued, “in the hope that it may reside in Camelot, as stout and timeless as the union between Camelot’s king and the fairest daughter of Cameliard.” He raised his glass once more, and the hall raised their glasses in return.

In the center of the hall, the servants assembled the table. It was enormous. Jack estimated that it could easily seat the fifty men that Leodegrance had brought with him, and it barely fit in the center of the great hall. It was intricately carved, and lushly painted. Lastly, and perhaps most interestingly, it was round.


	27. Conversations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack has errands in Camelot.

The next morning dawned pleasantly cool and sunny. Jack woke, dressed, and betook himself to breakfast. All of Camelot seemed to be awake and already in a frenzy of activity. Jack himself had little to do- his normal schedule was interrupted by the day's festivities.

Ancelyn was already eating when Jack arrived. Breakfast was one of the few times that Jack saw him anymore. Ancelyn was always with the king, and Jack almost never was. "Good morning," Jack called, cheerfully, as he sat down. Servants brought him a plate with black bread and hard cheese.

"It is indeed a fine morning," Ancelyn agreed, smiling. "I have heard that you ran into trouble yesterday."

"The usual kind," Jack said, agreeably. He pulled his eating dagger from the sheath on his belt, and began slicing his cheese. "Why do they have to use axes?" he complained. "I'm starting to feel like a tree trunk."

Ancelyn laughed. “What think you of this gift of Leodegrance’s?” he asked.

“The men, or the furniture?” Jack countered. “The men will be useful, especially if Leodegrance is really going to jump into the fight along with his majesty.”

“The table,” Ancelyn said, thoughtfully. “Our king has plans for it, though he has not shared the specifics with me.”

“How is he, by the way?” Jack said. “I can’t remember the last time I spoke to him. He seems well, when I see him.”

“Happy,” said Ancelyn. He smiled. “Morgaine brought him to such grief, but Guinevere heals him, I think.”

“Love does that,” Jack said, and smiled back. “What do you think of her?” he asked, quietly.

Ancelyn shrugged. “It is not my place to have opinions of my lady.” He smiled. “But I like her. She loves him, and he loves her. It is not often that the requirements of politics and the desires of the heart coincide.”

Jack raised his glass of warm, weak ale. “To the desires of the heart,” he said, grinning.

Ancelyn raised his glass. “Well spoken, my friend,” he said, and drained his cup. “I should go now.” He wiped his mouth. “My lord will rise soon, and my presence will be required. Are you to attend Merlin today?”

Jack nodded. He was assigned as the Doctor’s bodyguard; a fact which neither Arthur nor Jack had seen fit to share with the Time Lord. “And I’ll be in the honor guard at the wedding, of course,” Jack added. All of Arthur’s household knights who were currently in residence at Camelot would be there, wearing the blue-and-crowns.

“I shall see you there, then,” Ancelyn said, rising. “And again tomorrow for breakfast, of course.”

Jack finished eating his breakfast, and headed out of the hall. On the way, he dropped into the kitchens. He poked his head in. “How are my ladies today?” he asked, grinning.

Inside the kitchen, it was chaos. Pots were everywhere, there were more sculleries than he could count, and everyone was running around like mad. “Busy, thank you,” the head cook said, pertly. Her name was Elen. “We’ve got a wedding to put on, and no time for wayward knights, Jack Harkness.”

“Are you well?” another cook (named Glinys) interrupted, her tone concerned. “We heard you were wounded yesterday. Coel told me you rode into the stables fair covered in blood.”

“Worry not, my lady,” Jack said, and bowed. “There isn’t a Saxon alive that could lay a finger on me.”

“Oh, _she’s_ your lady now?” another woman, Efa, put in, with feigned irritation. She was carrying a large basket of vegetables across the kitchen. “Forgotten me already, have you?”

“Ladies, ladies!” Jack said, smiling. “Believe me when I say that there’s enough of me to go around.” Jack grinned suggestively, and then ducked as one of the sculleries threw a turnip in the direction of his head. “I surrender!” he called to her, laughing and raising his hands. “Don’t hurt me!”

“Did you come here for a reason, Harkness?” Elen said, hands on her hips. “Some of us actually work in Camelot, you know.”

“Oh, I know how hard you work,” he said. “That’s why I made sure to pick this up, when we passed through Silchester.” He reached into the pouch on his belt, and pulled out a small vial.

"Oh, you wicked man," she said, snatching the vial from his hand. "You got it!"

"I said I would, didn't I?" Jack grinned.

She unstopped the vial and, very, very gently, poured the contents into her palm. There were eight tiny threads, colored a rich orange-red. "Saffron," she breathed. "You must have sold your soul to the devil, Jack Harkness."

"That's not the first time someone's said that to me," he said, grinning. "But no, I just saved a spice merchant's daughter from Saxons. He asked me how he could repay me, and I knew you were looking for this. I wasn’t sure it would arrive in time, though."

“He must love his daughter a great deal,” she said. “A _very_ great deal.” She hadn't taken her eyes off the spice in her hand. "It'll be the finest wedding pudding an English king ever ate," she said. She tipped the threads back into their vial, reverently. Then she looked back up at him. "And now you'd better be off, Sir Jack- we really must get back to our work." Her voice was still gruff, but there was an uncharacteristic softness to it, as well.

Jack bowed, waved to the ladies of the kitchen, and was off. After the knights had declared him persona non grata, he’d decided it was time to look for other allies in Camelot. Fraternizing with the palace’s staff didn’t endear him to certain of the knights, but then, those knights didn’t care for him in the first place.

Leaving the kitchens, Jack walked around to the side of the palace, making his way around toward the stables and the smithies. He had no trouble finding them; smoke and steam billowed out into the cool air from the windows of the smithies. The fires of the forge meant that it was always hot there, no matter the weather outside.

Jack opened the door to the closest building. “Gethen?” he called.

A large, burly man emerged from the back of the shop. Jack was not a small man, particularly by the standards of this time and place, but Gethen dwarfed him. His arms and back were massive, the product of many hours spent at the forge and the bellows. “Sir Jack,” he said, dourly.

Another figure stepped out from behind the smith. It was Sir Kai. His face darkened when he saw Jack.

"Hello, Captain," Jack said politely.

Kai glared at him. Kai had been angry when he'd seen what had happened to Arthur, and he'd made it clear that there would be no forgiveness for what Jack had done. Jack generally did his best to stay out of Kai's way, but it was inevitable that their paths cross sometimes.

Kai didn't respond to him. He turned to Gethen. "I'll need those greaves by the end of the week, and no later," he said, brusquely.

"Should be able to get that done," Gethen agreed. He looked sidelong at Jack.

"Good," Kai said. He swept out of the room, not looking at Jack.

"What d'you want?" Gethen asked, picking tools up off the bench and hanging them off the rack on the wall.

“I ran into some Saxons yesterday,” Jack said, “And it’s put dents in my armor.” He pulled aside Dafydd’s borrowed surcoat to show a large, grooved dent where an axe-head had impacted.

Gethen grunted. “Heard that,” he said. “Coel was flapping about you riding up looking like you’d been in a slaughterhouse. Surprised t’see you walking around.”

“The blood wasn’t mine,” Jack lied. “Anyway, I was hoping I could get you to hammer my armor out for this afternoon.”

Gethen gestured for him to hand it over. Jack unbuckled his breastplate and did so.

The armorer examined it, running his fingers over the dent. “S’a bad hit,” he said, his tone suspicious. “You should have broken ribs.”

“I’m just lucky, I guess,” Jack said, smiling disarmingly. “It hurt like hell, though.” It would be bad, if his immortality were generally known. Enough people already thought he was guilty of colluding with Morgaine. If he were suspected of sorcery, it would seem to confirm their beliefs about him. In the palace, the only people who knew were the Doctor, Ancelyn and probably the Mother Abbess- although he’d never discussed it with her. “Can you get it fixed in time?” he asked.

Gethen got a sour look on his face. He was basically in the “Jack Harkness is a traitor” camp. “I’ve got a lot to do today,” he grumbled. “I probably can’t get it done.”

Jack didn’t really care about his reputation in Camelot. He understood why the other knights didn’t trust him- Accolon’s betrayal had shaken them badly. Jack was a foreigner, and the circumstances looked damning, if you didn’t know all the details. It was hard to blame them for disliking him. It had been nice to be part of a team, to be accepted into the brotherhood, but now that that was over, Jack didn’t feel dejected or resentful. He was too much a perpetual outsider to take other people’s opinions too much into his heart.

Still, it was one thing to not be bothered by this kind of thing, and another not to be able to get his armor fixed. “Even though I asked so nicely?” Jack said, keeping his tone light.

“I’ll do what I can,” Gethen said, insincerely.

“I’ll be back in an hour,” Jack said, smiling. “I’m sure a smith with your talents can get a little job like this done by then.”

Gethen grunted, but didn’t answer. He might not like Jack, but Jack was still a knight. Gethen couldn’t defy him openly. He’d do the job, and that’s what mattered.

Jack's next stop was the palace's infirmary. Unlike the rest of Camelot, things seemed to be quiet, here. Jack was surprised to see Dafydd there, sitting on a table. "Were you wounded yesterday?" Jack asked, frowning. "I didn't realize."

Dafydd and the sister tending him (Leri, Jack realized) turned. "Hello, Sir Jack," Dafydd said. Leri nodded to him, and went back to prodding Dafydd's arm. "I caught the beard of an axe on my shield-arm. It was not worth mentioning; my armor protected me."

Jack ducked around Leri to see her putting stitches into a reasonably deep cut on Dafydd's arm. On one level, he was right; it wasn't a life-threatening wound. On another, it was a painful wound that probably should have been treated before now. Jack had to remind himself that Dafydd was his teammate, not his underling. It wasn't his place to insist that the other knight be forthcoming about his wounds, as Jack might have done with Gwen or Ianto. Jack shrugged. "I was just looking for Sister Bethan," he said.

"Through there, Sir Jack," Leri said, helpfully, indicating a door on the far wall. She picked up a small, curved needle with her forceps, and, with a smooth twisting motion, jabbed it through the side of Dafydd's wound.

"I'll see you later," Jack said to Dafydd, pretending to ignore the other man's pale face and gritted teeth. Dafydd nodded, and looked away.

In the other room, Bethan was wrestling linens off of the beds. She looked up as he entered. "Sir Jack!" she called. "Surely you cannot be here in need of our skills. What brings you?"

Jack smiled. "I can't just drop by to say 'hello'?"

Bethan laughed, wiping her hands on her apron. "Sir Jack," she said. "We are a hospital. People bless our names when they have need of us, and avoid us at all other times."

Jack smiled back. "You got me," he said. "I was hoping you could help me out with something. I was in Upwood a few days ago, installing a generator, and I noticed that a lot of the kids there are showing signs of iron deficiency."

Bethan raised an eyebrow, shoving another pile of sheets into her basket. "And how do you know those signs, Sir Jack?" she asked.

Jack ignored the question; he knew a lot of things that a knight in this time and place shouldn't know. "We're going back there after the wedding," he said, "And I was hoping you could give me some iron supplements to take with me. Raiders destroyed their food stores, and you know how kids are prone to anemia."

She regarded him curiously. "If their diet is deficient, then supplements will only prolong the inevitable," she said, with the air of one playing Devil's Advocate. "Unless you intend to keep going back."

He smiled, thinly. "Or maybe it'll tide them over until the new crops come in and the hens start laying again," he pointed out. "Look- I noticed the problem, and it's a minor thing for me to help."

"I'll speak to the Mother Abbess," Bethan said, the corners of her mouth quirking up. "Come see us before you leave; I'll make sure you have what you need."

When he smiled this time, it was genuine. "Thanks,” he said.

From the infirmary, it took him another ten minutes to climb the stairs to the Doctor’s tower. He opened the door without knocking. “Doctor?” he called.

The Doctor stuck a head out from underneath a machine he was clearly tinkering with. “Good morning,” he said.


	28. A Royal Wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The marriage of Arthur and Guinevere.

They were nearly late to the ceremony. The Doctor disappeared into the TARDIS for an unreasonably long time, and reemerged wearing his tux.

"Looking sharp," Jack said, whistling. "But it'll definitely make you stand out in the crowd."

"Yeah, well," the Doctor said, dismissively, "I'm a wizard. We're meant to dress eccentrically."

After he'd dressed, Jack escorted the Doctor up to Arthur's chambers. The young king had himself just finished dressing. To Jack's practiced eye, he looked equal parts hopeful and terrified.

"Merlin!" Arthur cried. "Have you come to rescue me?" He nodded greeting to Jack as well.

"Do you need rescuing?" The Doctor asked. "I thought you volunteered for this."

Arthur pulled his surcoat over his head. It was awkward; his left wrist was stiff and weaker than it should be. That, and a limp in his left leg, were the permanent legacy of his duel with Jack. "I volunteered to marry my Guinevere," Arthur said, pointedly, smoothing the front of his surcoat, "And, in earnest, I volunteered for the alliance with Leodegrance. But if I could simply _be_ married, instead of having to _get_ married..."

"I know what you mean," Jack said, with sympathy. "I can tell you from experience that there's nothing you can do but suffer through it."

"I wouldn't have thought you the marrying kind, Captain," the Doctor said, his eyebrow raised.

"I was never very _good_ at it," Jack said, grinning.

"Well, Merlin," Arthur said, "If you will not rescue me, then I think that we are behind time to make our appearance- though perhaps no one will even see me with you attired so." He smiled in the direction of the Doctor and his thoroughly anachronistic tuxedo.

"Surely they'll be paying too much attention to the bride to notice either one of us anyway," the Doctor said, following Arthur to the door.

"Politic," Arthur commented, laughing, and they were gone.

Jack was left to make his way to his place on the parade ground- with all haste. That place was just outside the hall. He was lined up on one side of the road with the other knights of Arthur’s household. The men that Leodegrance had offered as a wedding gift were lined up on the other side. Jack gave a British military salute to the man opposite him, grinning. The other knight looked confused.

The first sign of the approaching wedding procession was the music. In a less elaborate marriage ceremony, children would have run after the procession, shouting and banging on homemade drums. Here, there were what sounded like ranks of musicians playing music that was both loud and joyful. A few minutes after he first heard the procession, it finally came into sight. There were two columns. The far column was headed by Guinevere, veiled and dressed richly in blue and gold. Guinevere was escorted by her father, and flanked by her mother and the rest of her family. Arthur’s colors stood out against her black-and-gold garbed family. It was a visual reminder that their daughter would leave them today to join another man's household.

Kinless Arthur stood at the head of the near column, flanked by Kai and the Doctor. Kai, unusually, was wearing his own standard ( _azure, two keys adorsed, or_ ), showing that he stood in his own person as Arthur's foster brother, and not as the captain of Arthur's guard. On his other side, the Doctor walked with his hands shoved in his pockets, grinning at the crowd. As though it were a vision from the future, Jack could hear the Doctor bragging about having stood in Arthur and Guinevere’s wedding.

There were children present in the procession, though they were too well-behaved to shout. They marched alongside, tossing flowers and sweets to the crowd, smiling and laughing. Behind them came the dancers, and the jugglers, and the acrobats. They were a riot of sound and color, silks and balls and bodies flying through the air. The crowd gasped and clapped as they approached. Jack smiled, and then readied himself.

As the procession approached, Jack and his fellow knights stood at attention, their swords raised in a salute as the royal couple passed by. They joined the procession as it passed; Guinevere's men joining with Arthur's in a symbolic gesture. Jack was one of the last to fall in line; Kai had placed him as close to the end as his status would allow. It was meant as an insult, but Jack didn't mind. It gave him plenty of chance to see the procession, and plenty of opportunity to get a good vantage point on the ceremony after he arrived in the Great Hall.

He ended up towards the side of the pavilion at the end of the hall. He was at an awkward angle, but close enough to see Arthur and Guinevere as they took their places at the center of the pavilion (Leodegrance releasing her with the same air with which one releases a hawk to fly, Arthur masking his nervousness as she approaches with a practiced facade of calm).

The Archbishop Dubricius took the stage, his robes making him look like a ship in full sail. He spoke, but Arthur and Guinevere barely looked at him. Jack watched them sneak shy glances at each other, as though they were afraid they might be caught at it. When their hands were bound together, Arthur’s hand trembled, and Guinevere blushed. When the Archbishop crowned them with garlands of flowers, Arthur smiled as though he might forget how to frown. Behind them, the Doctor stood, rocking back and forth just slightly on the balls of his feet, grinning broadly.

The Archbishop finished his blessing, and raised their bound hands to the crowd. The cheering was overwhelming, and Jack couldn’t stop himself smiling. “People of Camelot!” Arthur cried, stepping forward, “I present to you your queen!” Guinevere bowed her head, shyly. "Her grace and beauty will bless us all," he continued. "And on this most joyous day, it seems right to the both of us that we return that joy to our subjects." He turned, and nodded encouragingly to Guinevere.

She stepped forward. "People of Camelot!" she cried. Her body language was demure, but her voice was steady and clear. "To those of you assembled here today, we give a boon. If it should be in our power to give, you may ask it of us."

The crowd broke out in murmuring. Arthur stepped forward again. "To that end," he said, "We shall retire, and in a moment we will hold court in this hall, that we may hear each of you, according to your station." With that, he and Guinevere turned, and went from the stage.

"Very clever," a voice said, in Jack's ear. Jack turned to see the Doctor standing beside him, his tie already undone. "Politically, I mean."

"Maybe he just wants to give us all presents," Jack offered, smiling.

"Well, that too," the Doctor said, hands in his pockets. "Give presents, _and_ emphasize his wealth and generosity, _and_ strengthen his relationship with his vassals." he smiled back. "It's good when it's politically useful to do something you wanted to do anyway. Do you know what you're going to ask for?"

"I haven't had a chance to think about it," Jack said amiably.

"You should," the Doctor said. He grinned, suddenly.  "It's like Arthur is Father Christmas!"

"Are you going to ask Santa for a bicycle?" Jack asked, slyly. "Or a miniaturized fusion reactor?"

"You'll just have to wait to find out," the Doctor said, with a touch of smugness. He sauntered off, grinning like a lunatic.

From the back of the hall, servants appeared carrying two thrones. One was the throne that Jack knew well, that he’d seen the first day he’d arrived in Camelot. The other was smaller, more delicate and much newer. Once the thrones were installed on the platform, Arthur and Guinevere reappeared, their hands still bound. They smiled, and seated themselves, and the first petitioners came forward. Most gave some variant of "I ask for nothing but to serve thee, my king", and were rewarded with small, but precious gifts- gold and silver armbands, jeweled goblets, and the like. A few asked for favors of various kinds, but nothing unreasonable. It occurred to Jack that this was a sort of trust exercise. Arthur had made himself vulnerable to his vassals, and had to hope that they would not petition for anything that would prove too difficult or embarrassing for him. It was a powerful way to build loyalty- the Doctor was right.

Jack stood and watched, fascinated, as the high ranking kings and lords shuffled by. At last, it was the Doctor's turn. "I want to borrow your sword," the Doctor said, grinning, daring Arthur to argue with him.

Arthur looked at him warily. "Now?" the king asked, cautiously.

“No,” the Doctor said, waving the idea away with his hands. “Sometime not now. I’ll let you know. What I want is for you to lend me Excalibur when I ask for it next.”

Arthur looked hard at him a moment. “Then I shall grant thee that boon,” he said, finally. “Against some future need. When you ask it of me, I shall give it thee.”

And then, sooner than he thought it would be, it was Jack’s turn. He approached the dais, and dropped to one knee.  “Sire,” he said. He needed to put on his best knightly airs here- not for Arthur, as much as for those watching.

“Sir Jack,” Arthur said. “What gift may we grant you?”

“I would ask of thee a chance to prove my loyalty,” Jack asked, in his best approximation of the local mode of speech. “There are those who think me false.” He honestly didn’t care whether the other knights liked him or not, but if he was going to be living here indefinitely, he didn’t want to have to start an argument every time he needed to get his armor fixed.

Arthur looked vaguely guilty. He hadn’t condoned the other knights’ treatment of Jack, but he had unintentionally encouraged it by keeping his distance this last year. “We have never doubted your loyalty,” Arthur said, quietly. “If we had doubts, then my sister proved them mere phantoms.”

“Still,” Jack said, smiling. “Set me some task, sire, that I may prove myself to the rest of Camelot as well.” In a culture where legal matters could be decided by challenge and combat, Jack could publicly confirm his innocence with a quest.

Arthur was quiet a moment, considering. Then Guinevere turned to him and spoke. “My lord?” she said, sweetly. “May I suggest something?” Arthur nodded, and Guinevere continued. "I know that you have been sore vexed of late by the troubles in Malahaut, my lord. Sir Jack is a man of fair speech and quick mind- he might serve you well there."

Arthur looked thoughtful. “Well-considered, my lady,” he said. “Then my gift to you is this, Sir Jack: take yourself to Malahaut, with all my trust and assurances that you speak in my name. Make some peace with King Haraut, and all will know that you are my loyal knight.”

“It’s a deal,” Jack said.

It took hours for Arthur to see everyone in the hall. Some of them asked for tokens, some asked for favors, and some asked for money. Jack came to realize that this wasn’t just Arthur making himself vulnerable. It also gave Arthur the chance to take the measure of his subjects. There is no quicker way to reveal someone than to ask him what it is that he wants.

When his last subject had bowed and retreated, Arthur stood once more. “My people!” he said, wearily. “Soon, my bride and I will take to our chamber.” There was more than a little ribald catcalling and cheering at that. Jack contributed to it- that sort of thing was traditional for weddings, here. Arthur smiled, tolerantly, and waited for it to die down. “Before we go,” he continued, finally, “I have one further announcement.” The hall grew hushed with anticipation. "My people," Arthur said, "I have decided what I shall do with my father-in-law's wedding gift. That great oak table shall be the foundation of a new order of knights. Each man in this order shall stand equal to every other in virtue, in strength, and in dedication to the principles of chivalry: that the strong must protect the weak, that we all stand subject to the laws of God and this land, and that might does not make right in Camelot." Arthur paused. The hall remained still. "I shall make my invitations to this order in the coming days," he finished. He turned to look at Guinevere, and kissed her hand where it was still bound to his. "And now," Arthur said, smiling, "I bid you all good night."


	29. Bears in the Woods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack and his squire ride for Malahaut

And so it was, two days later, that Jack found himself on the road to Malahaut. He had said his goodbyes, asked Dafydd to take over delivering medicine to Upwood, and packed his saddlebags. On the morning he'd left, one of the king's political advisors had provided him with a holoimager that would serve as proof that Jack had the authority to speak for Arthur. And then he'd been off, with a spare horse and his squire Gerrain in tow.

Jack had heard a little about Malahaut; mostly bad. Old King Haraut had refused to send men to fight the Saxons, despite owing military service to the Pendragon as his feudal obligation. Arthur had sent one of his dukes- Derfel- to sort the matter out. Apparently, it hadn’t been sorted, and they hadn’t had any recent messages from him. Jack’s task was to go to Malahaut, find out what had happened to Derfel, and make sure that Haraut ended his little rebellion.

He had a lot of time to think about the problem. Jack expected it to take better than two and a half weeks to reach Eburacum (Haraut’s capital) by road. Not for the first time since coming here, Jack missed cars, and the ability to move 45 kilometers per hour, instead of 45 kilometers per day.

\----------------------

On the first day of their journey, Jack ran into a knight whose standard he didn't recognize. They greeted each other. Then the other knight challenged him to a joust, "for love", which meant blunted lances and no one actually trying to kill the other guy. Jack wasn’t entirely certain why knights here felt the need to joust each other every time they met on the road, but he suspected it might be some sort of sublimated homoerotic urge. Jack won the match, barely, by a lance. The other knight glared at him, but saluted and was on his way.

On the fourth day, they were attacked by bandits. Eight of them came out of the woods at Jack and Gerrain, but they were no real threat. Bandits, afoot, were no match for even one of Arthur's armed, armored, and mounted knights. Jack didn't hold back, either- he wasn't going to leave the bandits free to attack some more-vulnerable traveler. Besides, there was no option of leaving them alive and bringing them to justice. It was kinder to let them die by the sword than by the gibbet.

On the tenth day, Jack met another knight at a crossroads. The knight announced, cheerfully, that he had been sent there by his lady, that he prove himself worthy of her hand. She’d instructed him to remain at the crossroads until he had bested fifty knights in her name. Jack lost, barely, by a lance.

On day twelve, they found themselves in a village that was being terrorized by a troll- or at least something large, vicious and non-human that they called a troll. Jack had to admit that it looked very troll-like. With some difficulty and the liberal use of their swords, he and Gerrain convinced it that it might be better off living somewhere farther away from the human population.

On the fifteenth day, they stopped in a largish town named Folkingham. The local lord put them up, and threw a feast for them. Jack was called upon to boast of his exploits after dinner, and he ended up in bed later with two very impressed serving wenches. Gerrain slept in the stable with the horses, but at least the stables were warm and dry.

On the nineteenth day of their journey, they came to a village that had been burnt to the ground.

It had happened some time ago- there was no smoke, and no heat coming from the wreckage. Here and there, blackened poles- what was left of houses and shops- jutted out of the ground. In each of the buildings they passed, white bones could be seen clearly among the black ashes, charred and cracked by the fire. The villagers hadn't escaped.

"Sir," Gerrain said, looking green around the edges. "It still smells-" He did not finish.

"It's a smell that lingers, that one," Jack agreed, grimly.

"This can't have been an accident, can it sir?" Gerrain said. “I mean, this many people...” He trailed off again.

“No,” Jack said. This was not the first time this sort of thing had happened since the most recent war with the Saxons had begun. Jack had never seen the ruins of Lanreath, but he had heard, in detail, from men who had. Still, this was much farther north than the Saxons had been before. “Let’s get to Eburacum. They need to know about this, if they don’t already.”

\----------------

They rode as quickly as the horses could stand. Without thinking about it, Jack was on alert, looking for signs of imminent attack. The roads were clear, but as it came to evening, Jack saw a column of smoke on the horizon. They left the road, riding cautiously toward it. As they approached, they could hear the sound of screaming, and weeping, and pleading, and of steel smashing into wood, and of flames crackling in straw. The trees were too dense here for them to see what was happening up ahead, but they could hear.

Jack drew his sword. “Stay back unless you have to,” Jack told Gerrain. “And use your laser first.” Gerrain nodded, looking both eager and terrified.

Jack, mounted on his horse, crashed into the clear. "Pleased to see me?" he asked, cheerfully. He had moments to take stock of his situation. Most of the village was burning- the heat of it was immense. Startled, Jack realized that he wasn’t facing Saxons, as he’d expected. These men were British- or at least dressed that way. There were seven of them, all geared as men-at-arms. As he realized what they were doing, Jack felt ill. The village church stood a little way off, and the soldiers were forcing people into it, while their comrade stood by with a burning brand.

"Who are you?" the nearest soldier snapped at him.

"That’s not a pleasant way to start a conversation. My name’s Jack, what’s yours?" Jack said, and drew his laser. He fired once, without waiting for a response. The man holding the torch screamed and dropped it.

"You're in trouble," snarled another of the soldiers. "There's more of us than there are of you."

"That's true," Jack said. "But I'm just so much prettier. Now, is there any chance you'll stop, and leave these people alone?" The soldier drew his sword, and charged Jack. “I didn’t think so,” Jack said, and fired again.

They were right: they outnumbered him seven to one- even with him on horseback, even with the fact that he had a laser and they didn't, those were bad odds. Jack fired, and was able to take down two men before the rest rushed him. He drew his sword and tried to fight them off, but there were too many of them. They’d have him unhorsed in a minute, and Jack didn’t care for his chances after that.

"Villains!" Gerrain cried, from somewhere behind Jack. "Unhand my master!"

Jack took advantage of the distraction to kick one of his opponents in the face with a steel-plated foot, sending him reeling backwards. He’d rather Gerrain had stayed out of the fight, but he had to admit that two-against-six was much better odds than one-against, even if one of them was a squire. He wheeled his horse around, putting him and Gerrain side-by-side. Jack leaned in the squire’s direction, slashing at one of the soldiers with his sword as he did so. “Aim for center mass, and keep your arm steady. Make your shots count!” he called, as he had done in training a thousand times. He hoped that the association with their practice sessions would steady the kid’s nerves. Jack swung again, catching one of the soldiers in the head with the pommel of his sword.

It was enough. With Gerrain at his side, the tide of the battle had turned. “Care to surrender?” Jack offered the leader, as he clanged his sword against the man’s shield. “I don’t don’t think this is going to go your way.” Bringing the sword suddenly back, Jack sliced a neat gash in his armor, staggering him.

The soldier fell to the ground. When he got to his feet again, he was holding the torch that his comrade had dropped earlier, somehow still alight. “Surrender?” the man sneered. “I think not.” He threw the torch onto the roof of the church.

It must have been soaked in some kind of accelerant- kerosene, maybe- because it began to burn immediately. Jack swore under his breath. “The villagers!” he shouted to Gerrain. “We’ve got to get them clear!” Around them, the soldiers broke and ran. Jack ignored them. He leapt down from his horse, and ran to the church. “Out!” he shouted. “The soldiers are gone! Everyone out, and into the woods!”

The peasants ran. Without having to be told, Gerrain started herding them into a group, clear of the fire. Jack noted it, and then ran into the building. He heard Gerrain call his name with alarm, but he ignored it. The walls of the church were on fire, and burning pieces of wood were falling down into the chapel. He physically grabbed the last few people and shoved them out of the door, shielding them from the flames with his body. Outside, people were standing around, weeping, or staring at their burning homes in shock.

“Everyone okay?” Jack asked Gerrain, quietly.

“Um,” Gerrain said, uncertainly.

“No injuries?” Jack clarified.

“Not serious ones, I don’t think,” Gerrain said, helpfully.

Jack nodded, and started looking around for the soldiers. They’d all run, but he’d thought he’d seen one fall. One of them lay unmoving in the grass, not far from one of the burning buildings. Jack knelt down and felt for a pulse. There was nothing. He felt a brief stab of emotion, but it faded at the memory of charred bones in black ash. He flipped the body over on to its back. On its chest, there was a heraldic badge- a small object fashioned of metal and cloth and enamel. It meant that this man had sworn himself to some noble lord. Jack examined the badge closely. It bore the device of a gold bear on a green and white field- Jack didn’t recognize it. He unfastened it from the man’s tunic, and put it into his pouch. Then he dragged the body to one of the burning buildings, and threw it on the fire.

“What will we do now?” one of the women asked him, as he returned to where the villagers were waiting. She looked to be in her forties, but was probably younger. She looked sad, and frightened.

“Rebuild,” Jack said. “Eventually. For tonight, we’ll find a place to camp, and face this in the morning.”

There was nothing they could do about the fire. Even if there had been a source of water handy, the fire had spread too far. The only thing they could do was stand, and watch, and keep it from spreading further. They were able to save some of the livestock, but that was it. Jack set about making camp for a village worth of terrified, shell-shocked peasants. He had Gerrain set up his pavilion as a shelter for the weakest of the group. The rest slept on the ground in whatever makeshift shelter they could improvise.

Checking that everyone had a place to sleep, Jack did a circuit of the burning village. He needed to make sure that the fire wasn’t going to spread into the forest. He and a crew of the men of the village dug trenches, and cleared brush into the night. When he returned to the camp, he wasn’t surprised to see that Gerrain was still awake. He was in his bedroll, and was clearly pretending to be asleep- but not very convincingly. Jack leaned down. “Still awake?” he said softly in Gerrain’s ear.

Gerrain jumped, startled. “Er,” he said.

“It’s alright,” Jack said. “Are you hungry? We haven’t had a chance to eat since the fight.”

“A little, sir,” Gerrain admitted. Jack reached into the saddlebags, and pulled out some hard cheese and jerky. He sat down on the ground next to Gerrain’s bedroll, and handed him a few pieces.

“Good job today,” Jack told him. “I was starting to think I might be in trouble, there.” Jack watched Gerrain carefully. He was usually an even-tempered boy- although, boy wasn’t really accurate, anymore. At 15, Gerrain was beginning to come into his adult size and strength.

“Thank you, sir,” Gerrain said quietly.

Jack noted a tremble in Gerrain's voice, and a certain shakiness in his hands as he ate. Jack knew, from long experience, what this was about. He stayed silent, waiting to let Gerrain speak when he chose to.

"Sir?" Gerrain said, at long last. His voice didn't quite crack.

"Mm?" Jack said, encouragingly.

"Did I-" Gerrain paused. "That is, I think I-" he broke off again.

"You think you hit one of them," Jack finished for him. He brushed his hands off. "You want to know if you killed someone." Gerrain nodded, looking small, and frightened, and terribly young. Jack sighed. “It’s hard to say,” he said. “Battle is chaotic. But I think so.”

Gerrain looked like he thought he might throw up. Jack had seen the look before, many times. He’d had this talk with terribly young men and women in the Time Agency, in the British Army, and at Torchwood. “You’re going to be okay,” Jack said.

Gerrain nodded. “Yes, sir,” he said, tentatively.

“I mean it,” Jack told him. “I’ve seen people who weren’t okay, you know. Some people go to pieces afterward. Some people _like_ the killing. You, though-” Jack smiled at him. “You killed him, but you didn’t do it because you wanted to. You did it to save all these people. That’s what being a knight is about- protecting the people who can’t protect themselves.”

Gerrain nodded again. “Yes sir,” he said, sounding much more sure of himself.

“Now go to sleep,” Jack told him. “I have a feeling we’ll be busy in the morning.”


	30. A Cross Fleury

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack goes to Eburacum.

It was a convenient happenstance. Jack needed to go to Eburacum, and so did the villagers. They were going to petition their lord for help. Peasants didn't have many rights in this society, but that was one of them: lords had a duty to protect their people. The village elders debated only sending a delegation, but Jack refused to leave anyone behind. There was too great a chance that the bear-marked soldiers would come back, looking for revenge.

Jack organized them into a column. He rode at the head, and he sent Gerrain to the back. They moved as slowly as they had to to accommodate the old and the young. Ahorse, it would have taken Jack and Gerrain less than a day to make Eburacum. Now, it was going to take several days. It was, Jack supposed, the price of being a knight in shining armor.

The sound of steel clanging against steel broke Jack out of his reverie. Behind him, the villagers began making noises of alarm. Raising a hand, Jack quieted them. “I’ll be right back,” he said. He spurred his horse forward.

Just off the road, there was a single knight on foot. His back was to a tree, and he was fighting three men. Two of the soldiers pinned the knight with their shields, and the third raised a blade to strike at the knight’s exposed neck. Jack caught a glimpse of white and green and gold on the third soldier’s tunic.

“Those teams don’t look fair,” Jack called, drawing his sword. “Can I play, too?”

The soldiers turned to look at him, and Jack could see them running the probabilities in their heads. With three of them against one knight on foot, the odds were in their favor. With the addition of Jack (and his horse), the scales tipped rather sharply in the other direction. Jack charged. Releasing the knight, the soldiers broke and scattered- into the woods. Jack considered following, but there was no way he could catch them and stay mounted in those close-packed trees.

“Thank you,” the knight said, his voice breathless. “I believe I owe you my life.” Jack looked back toward him, as he pulled his helmet off. He was dark-haired, and handsome enough- in an awkward sort of way. “I don’t recognize your arms, sir,” the knight added, marking Jack’s surcoat.

Jack glanced at the other knight’s shield. His crest was a silver field with a purple cross. At the top of the shield, there were the inverted crenelations that marked him as a firstborn-son-and-heir. “I don’t know yours either,” Jack said. “I’m Sir Jack Harkness.”

“I am... Bran,” he said, with enough hesitation for Jack to know that he was lying. “I am sworn to King Haraut.”

Jack considered. If he really did serve Haraut, then he might be useful. “I’m sworn to the Pendragon,” Jack offered in return, turning so that the other man could see his shield. Bran stiffened when he saw it. Jack continued, cautiously. “Any idea why those soldiers wanted you dead?”

“No,” Bran answered, too quickly this time.

Lying was frowned upon among knights. It was considered unchivalrous. Jack found himself curious as to why this knight, then, was lying through his teeth. “Where are you headed?” he asked. “We’re on our way to Eburacum, if you want to travel with us.”

“You are escorting these people to the capital?” Bran asked, indicating the villagers, who were making their way up the hill with Gerrain at the lead.

“They used to be from a village named Harling,” Jack said. “They’re hoping to petition their king for protection.”

Bran’s expression grew dark. “This is not the first we’ve heard of this sort of attack,” he said. “I have not heard, though, that there were ever any survivors.”

“The soldiers were doing their best to make sure there wouldn’t be,” Jack said, lightly. “Gerrain and I disagreed with them about that. Forcefully.” Jack waved to Gerrain, signaling him that it was alright to approach.

Bran looked intrigued. “This is not your first encounter with those men?” he asked.

“Not _those_ men, specifically.” Jack said. “But their co-workers.” He pulled the badge from his belt pouch, as illustration.

Bran regarded it contemplatively. “I warn you,” he said, “the road to Eburacum is blocked. The city has been besieged for five days now. There is no refuge there.”

“Beseiged?” Jack asked. “By who?”

Bran laughed. “When I saw your shield, I took you for his confederate, knight of the Pendragon. The villain of all our stories is your brother-in-arms: his Grace, the Duke of Lindsey.”

“Derfel,” Jack said, grimly. Apparently, this was going to be a much bigger problem to deal with than he’d thought.

“The same,” Bran said, nodding.

“Arthur wouldn’t sanction this,” Jack said.

“Wouldn’t he?” Bran asked, with a touch of venom in his tone.

“No,” Jack said. “And neither will I.”

“You saved my life,” Bran said, looking serious. “I owe you a debt. I will redeem it as best I may.”

\--------------------------

Bran suggested that they take the villagers to Beale Abbey.

"Abbot Michael will give them shelter," he said, confidently.

For the first stretch of the journey, Jack put Bran at the head of the column with him. "Are you sure you want to ride with us?" Jack asked him, smiling. "It might constitute fraternizing with the enemy."

Bran raised an eyebrow. "Are you my enemy?"

"The province you serve is in rebellion, and I was sent by the Pendragon to end that rebellion," Jack said. It was best that Bran understand why Jack was here from the outset.

Bran nodded seriously. "I judge a man by his actions," he said, "not the crest on his shield. The man who defended Malahaut's people- who saved me- is not my enemy." He paused, looking thoughtfully at Jack. "It may be that in coming days, we will find ourselves on opposite sides of this conflict. If so, you can be certain that you will find me an implacable opponent. Even so, that time has not arrived. For today, we are allies."

Jack laughed. "You have a way with words," he said. "Tell me about the Duke," he asked. He didn't need to say which one. "What happened here?"

Bran's face darkened. "Derfel is a butcher- he has no honor. He arrived with a fifth the force he has now, claiming that he came to treat with us. He accepted hospitality at- Eburacum." Jack caught that slight hesitation before the name of the city- more of Bran’s secrets. "Then the raids started," Bran continued, his face dark. "He lied like a dog, claiming he wasn't involved. I had just found proof of his treachery when I got word that he had marched on Eburacum. His men ambushed my party, and my brother knights were killed. I escaped, but they found me again-"

"And that's where I come in," Jack put in. "Are you headed back to Eburacum once we've got these people to safety?"

Bran nodded. "I have my duties there," he said.

"Good," Jack said. "We're coming with you."

\----------------

The abbey was already housing refugees, but the abbot didn't hesitate before accepting Jack's villagers. He was a broad, friendly-looking man. "We'll find room for them," he said in a booming voice. He laughed. "I don't know how! But we'll manage." Jack thanked him, and put a large donation in the abbey’s poor box when he wasn’t looking.

What had taken days at walking speed took a day and a half on horseback. Jack, Gerrain, and Bran found themselves, shortly after noon on the second day, on a hill overlooking the city of Eburacum. There was an army camped outside the walls of the city- an army carrying banners showing the crest _per pale argent and vert, a boar or_.

“Any ideas on how to get inside?” Jack asked.

“Several,” Bran answered. “Can you climb?”

“I think they’ll be watching the walls,” Jack said, grinning.

“Armor repels arrows,” Bran pointed out, half-smiling. He shook his head. “But scaling the walls might better be a last resort. I know a way into the city that- I hope- is unknown to other men. But I warn you: you might prefer the walls.”

There was the issue of what to do with the horses. The obvious solution was have Gerrain take them back to the abbey, and wait for Jack to return. “Armor is also a problem,” Bran said. “We can keep our chain shirts, but we’ll have to leave the plate behind.”

“Oh,” Gerrain said. “Right. Of course.” He began the process of stripping off the knights’ plate mail.

Jack felt uneasy. It took him a moment to realize why: it felt strange to go into an operation without the armor. Jack laughed. “Sir?” Gerrain asked, startled.

“Nothing,” Jack said. “Sorry.” He remembered what it had felt like, to put the plate mail on for the first time. He’d barely been able to move. Now, only three years later, it felt like a second skin to him. He supposed that, as an immortal, three years ought to feel more like an eyeblink to him. Jack smiled. The Doctor might call him a fixed point, but time still flowed past him one day at a time, just like it did for everyone else.

With their armor safely stowed away, Jack said goodbye to Gerrain. “Stay off the main roads,” he advised. “And make sure you keep a charged power cartridge in your laser. If you run into Derfel’s scouts, it’ll give you an advantage.”

“Yes sir,” Gerrain said, sullenly. He was unhappy at being left behind, but someone had to take care of the armor and horses.

“Don’t worry, Gerrain,” Jack said, grinning. “You’ll get a chance to break into a besieged city someday.”

Gerrain rolled his eyes. “Right, sir,” he said, and rode away.

Jack followed Bran throught the forest. “There’s an old Roman tunnel,” he said. “It used to connect to the aqueducts, but it’s been blocked off for years. I found it when I was a boy. I used it to sneak out of the city when I could.” He smiled. “My father never caught me, either.”

“Where’s the entrance?” Jack asked.

“You did say that you could climb, Sir Jack?” Bran smiled slyly at him. The entrance to the tunnel was at the top of a sheer cliff face. As Bran had said, the ruins of an aqueduct arcade spread across the small valley that they found themselves in. “Up we go,” Bran added, and began climbing. It was a difficult climb. Jack was forced to spider-crawl up the cliff, digging his fingers into shallow handholds that Bran had inexpertly carved years ago.

At the top, Bran helped him up into the tunnel entrance. “We dare not use a torch,” Bran told. “If one of the men in Derfel’s camp were to catch sight of a spark- but I know the way, even without light.”

“Lead the way,” Jack said, getting to his feet. The tunnel was tall enough for an average-sized man to walk in, but Jack had to stoop a bit. It was also damp, and smelled of mold and the detritus of animals who'd lived and died in the tunnel since it'd stopped carrying water into the city. He brushed the walls with gloved fingers as they entered. The tunnel sloped downward into the city, and turned gently. Even aside from the climb, Bran had been right to have them leave their armor behind. The stone was wickedly slippery, and staying on their feet was proving hard enough without being encumbered by plate mail. Jack shut his eyes, and concentrated on the stone against his hands, and his footing, and the presence of Bran in front of him.

Suddenly, Bran stopped. Jack walked straight into him, and then stumbled back, trying to keep his footing. "The tunnel branches here," Bran explained. "I marked the right turning points many years ago. Many of the old tunnels are collapsed, and one may easily lose one's way in this darkness."

Jack tried not to think about wandering around in these tunnels until his companion started dying of hunger and thirst. "This way," Bran said, confidently.

Bran stopped to find his markers twice more. "We are almost there," he said, after the second time. "And this tunnel takes us directly into the palace." A short distance later, he stopped, and knelt down. Jack heard the sound of his fingers scraping against the stone. A moment later, a crack of dim light appeared.

They climbed through the hole in the wall that Bran made, and when they were through, he carefully replaced the bricks. “Don’t worry,” Jack said, amused, “I won’t mention this to your father.”

Bran laughed, shortly. “Thank you, Sir Jack. I shall hold you to your word on the matter. Now,” he said, looking cautiously around a corner, “You must cover your shield.”

Jack nodded, and draped his cloak over it. The blue-and-crowns was not going to be a popular crest here. He followed Bran out into the hallway, and up a flight of stairs. They made it into a side passageway before they were stopped by a guard who looked suspiciously at Jack’s shield.

“Take us to the throne room,” Bran said, forcefully. The soldier looked uncertain, but complied. Jack and Bran followed him to a pair of large, ornate doors. The guard stood aside, and Bran pushed the doors open.

Inside, the room was filled with courtiers. At the end of the hall, a white-haired man sat on a throne. As he saw them, he turned away from his conversation with the men at his side. He rose to his feet, staring in shock. “Barant!” he cried, looking at Bran. Jack suspected he’d just learned the knight’s real name.

“My lord,” Barant said, dropping to a knee. The king strode across the hall, pulled Barant to his feet, and embraced him. Barant returned the embrace, and then turned aside to Jack. “Sir Jack,” he said. “Let me introduce to you my lord father, King Haraut of Malahaut.”


	31. Politics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack argues with royalty.

"I thought you dead, boy," Haraut said gruffly.

"Not for want of Derfel trying," Barant said. "Sir Jack came to my aid."

Haraut looked at Jack as if seeing him for the first time. He glanced at Jack's covered shield, and at the blue-and-phoenix on Jack's surcoat. "I do not recognize thy arms, sir knight," Haraut said, formally.

In a swift movement, Jack pulled the cloak from his shield. "I am Sir Jack Harkness," he said, "Household knight to his Majesty, King Arthur Pendragon." It was best to come out with his metaphorical guns blazing, Jack figured.

Haraut recoiled, pushing Barant away from him. "What do you mean by this?" he shouted at his son, drawing his sword. "Have you got tired of being a prince?"

"Father!" Barant said, with a note of tired resignation in his voice. "I am no traitor, and Sir Jack is no assassin. He saved my life upon the road, when Derfel's thugs would have seen me rotting unshriven in a ditch. No matter whose crest he bears on his shield, I swear on my honor that Jack is no party to our troubles!"

Haraut sheathed his sword, and looked at Jack. "Why, then, have you come here, if not to end Derfel's siege for him?"

Jack slung his shield onto his back. "I was sent about the troops Arthur asked for," he said.

"Ridiculous," Haraut sniffed, making his way back to his throne. "I sent a tithe. The boy should be happy with that."

By "the boy", Haraut meant Arthur, of course. Jack smiled. "Politics!" he said, disarmingly. "I'm sure we can come to some sort of agreement later. First, is there anywhere I could take off my armor?"

Haraut stared at him for a long moment. "Very well," he said, finally. "I grant you the hospitality of my house."

Jack bowed. "I gratefully accept," he said. This was important; as Jack had learned early on, the guest-host relationship was taken very seriously in this culture. By offering hospitality, Haraut was agreeing to protect Jack as if he were Haraut's own kin. By accepting, Jack was promising to honor Haraut's house and do no ill to any in it.

Haraut waved them away, and Jack was led to a small chamber. He put down his pack, and his shield, and began pulling off his chain mail. He was looking around in his pack for his good shirt and surcoat when Barant appeared.

“My lord father bids you come to dinner, when you have refreshed yourself,” he reported. He looked down. "I fear you will not find our table as full as it might be," he said, "but the meal is prepared, when you have readied yourself."

Jack found his clothes. He stripped off his dirty shirt, and laid it in a neat pile on the bed. Some servant would pick it up and clean it, and he preferred to make their life easier if he could. "There's a siege on," Jack replied. "If you weren't on short rations, I would wonder." He pulled his clean shirt over his head. "It's good to be properly introduced to you, by the way- Prince Barant."

Barant flushed. It looked kind of cute on him, Jack did not point out. "I am sorry for deceiving you, Sir Jack," Barant said. "I did not know your intentions, and it seemed safest-"

Jack smiled. "I understand," he said. "Can I ask you a question?"

Barant nodded. "Yes," he said. "What would you know, Sir Jack?"

"Why didn't your father send the troops that Arthur asked for?" he said, pulling on his surcoat and belting it.

“My father will tell you that he fears an invasion by the Picts,” Barant said, not meeting Jack’s eyes.

“Do you?” Jack asked.

Barant paused. “If there are reports that the Picts have been massing, I have not heard them,” Barant equivocated.

Jack didn’t press any further. Barant was oath-bound to support his father’s decisions, and it wasn’t fair to challenge him. “Well,” he said. “Time for dinner.”

\-----------------------

By custom, business wasn’t discussed at the table. They ate meat and white bread; simple but well-prepared. Afterwards, musicians played, and then various people rose and told stories about their exploits. Jack stood, and told a few stories of his own. Eventually, Haraut rose and dismissed the company. “I think that the time has come, knight, for us to discuss politics,” he growled to Jack.

Jack smiled, and followed Haraut into his chambers, Barant at his back.

“Your damned Saxons,” Haraut fumed, as soon as they were in private. “I sent a tithe!”

Vassals owed military service- their own, their knights’, and their soldiers’. Sometimes, a monetary tithe could be substituted. In time of peace, a tithe would certainly have been accepted. These, however, were not peaceful times. Arthur had had asked for men, and Haraut had defied him. The tithe hadn’t been nearly enough to make it possible for Arthur to overlook that. Jack stood, his hands clasped behind his back. “Duke Derfel returned it to you,” he said. This was what he had been told, in any case. “The tithe wasn’t accepted.”

“I’ve sent a tithe every year for the last five years, and now it’s not acceptable?” Haraut snapped. “So he sets his hounds on me, is that it?”

Jack smiled. “His Majesty wants a peaceful resolution to this,” he said. He inclined his head. “Mostly, I think he wants his men. There are a lot of Saxons down south.”

“I am certain that there are,” Haraut hissed. “But I fail to see how that concerns us here in Malahaut.”

“Seriously?” Jack said, smiling at Haraut again. “You’re going to take that tack? People are dying down south.”

“People are dying here, as well!” Haraut thundered. “And it is well that I did as I did. If I had sent the men, we would have been unable to defend ourselves from Lindsey!”

“If you had sent the men,” Jack pointed out, “Derfel would never have had a reason to attack.”

Haraut’s face grew red, his eyes bulging with anger. “You dare,” he said, coldly, “You dare insult me in my own hall?”

Jack took a deep breath, his smile fixed on his face. “I’d be happy to do it elsewhere, if you’d prefer.” He couldn’t resist. “Look,” he said, throwing up his hands before Haraut could have him dragged away, “I understand- I do. You’re trying to look after your own people. Arthur would respect that. Malahaut’s people are his people, too. What Derfel’s done is unsanctioned, and I’m sure Arthur will make him pay for it when this is all over.”

“So,” Haraut said, breathing heavily, “You are trying to claim that Arthur did not send him to make war on us?”

Jack nodded. “Got it in one,” he said. “Last we knew, Derfel had come here to return the tithe and negotiate your sending men down south. That’s the last message we received. I was sent to find out what happened to him, and finish his mission if needed.”

“Lies,” Haraut hissed, advancing on Jack.

“Father,” Barant said, quietly. “I believe that he speaks the truth in this matter.”

Haraut whirled. “Boy?” he bellowed.

Barant held his ground. “He did not know who had attacked the villages,” he said. “And if Arthur had intended to make war on us, why send Sir Jack at all? We both know that the city will not hold off a siege forever. Lindsey has the upper hand.”

“Call for a parley with Derfel,” Jack advised. “I need to hear what he has to say. If you want to find out the truth, that’s the best way. I’ll even go in without my weapons, if that’s what you want.”

“This could be a ploy to draw me away from the protection of my guards,” Haraut said, suspiciously.

“Maybe,” Jack said, looking at him speculatively. “But it could be your chance at protecting your people from the butcher who’s been slaughtering them at every opportunity. It’s your choice.”

There was a long pause, as Haraut considered this. “Very well,” he said, finally. “Barant, have the message sent to Duke Derfel. We will parley with him upon the morrow.”

\---------------------------

It was past nine when they rode out of the city, carrying white pennants. Derfel had pitched a tent just over the bridge that led into the city gates. His men had pulled back, waiting for his command. Jack rode on a borrowed horse next to Barant, his shield (covered once again) strapped to his back. They rode to the tent, and then handed off the horses to men who pulled back to the bridge. It seemed as though everyone assembled was holding their breath, waiting to see what would happen before everything dissolved once more into chaos and battle.

Derfel was waiting inside the tent with two or three of his knights at his side. The knights all wore badges twin to the one still tucked into Jack’s beltpouch. “Welcome,” Derfel said, with a smug smile. “Sit. Would you care for a glass of wine?”

Haraut seated himself on the stool opposite Derfel. Jack and Barant seated themselves to his left and right. A servant poured wine, which no one seemed interested in actually drinking.

“So, shall we set the terms of the surrender?” Derfel asked, smoothly.

Haraut slammed a fist on the table. “We have no intention of surrendering!” he growled.

“Really?” Derfel asked. “Then why did you come here? Surely, you do not think I intend to simply withdraw my troops, and leave.”

Jack cleared his throat. “He sent the message because I asked him to,” Jack said. He kept a smile on his face, and made sure that his stance was easy; relaxed.

Derfel’s head snapped around. “Who are you?” he asked, with the tone of a man who does not appreciate surprises.

Jack stood, and Derfel’s guards went for their swords. He raised his hands in the universal sign for _I’m not holding a weapon._ “I’m Sir Jack Harkness,” he said, reaching for his shield. “The Pendragon sent me.” Jack uncovered his shield. Derfel leaned in, examining it. The blue-and-crowns were only carried by Arthur’s knights, and the shields were extremely difficult to forge.

“What are your intentions here?” Derfel asked, warily.

“The king hadn’t heard from you for a while,” Jack said, smiling. “He sent me to find out why.”

Derfel looked nervous. “How do we know that you speak the truth?” he said. “Even if you are one of the Pendragon’s knights, we have no surety that you have authority to speak in these affairs.”

“I knew you’d say something like that,” Jack said. With a practiced flick of his thumb, he opened his belt pouch, and pulled out the holoimager. He set it on the table. “This is your confirmation,” he said, and flicked the switch on the side.

White light shot from the top of the device, and the others in the tent gasped in astonishment. This technology was not in wide use; they had probably never seen a holoimager before. The light coalesced into the near-life-size image of the Pendragon, standing with his hands clasped behind his back.

“Hail,” the image said, with Arthur’s voice. “To King Haraut of Malahaut and Duke Derfel of Lindsey, I give good greetings, and this message: I have sent you a messenger, and I place in him my trust and my voice to act as I have directed in this matter. He is Sir Jack Harkness of my own rank of knights, and he wears a silver phoenix on an azure field." Arthur paused, his image blurring momentarily. When the focus sharpened again, Arthur’s face was stern and commanding, despite his youth. “To my loyal subject, His Majesty King Haraut, I say this: thou art beloved among my vassal kings. A conflict between Eburacum and Camelot would grieve me sorely. Even so, I am the Pendragon. Your hands are in mine, and I will not yield in this matter." The image zoomed in on Arthur's face, and they could see determination glinting in his eyes. "God be with you," Arthur continued. "We hope for the swift and peaceful resolution of this conflict."

And then, as quickly as it had appeared, the light was extinguished, swallowed by the device on the table.


End file.
